


Brave Faces, Everyone

by everythingintransit



Series: No Closer To Heaven [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Bisexual Remus Lupin, Character Death, Chronic Illness, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Gay Sirius Black, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Mental Health Issues, POV Multiple, Post-Hogwarts, Punk Sirius Black, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Stoner Remus, dorlene, jily, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 55,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingintransit/pseuds/everythingintransit
Summary: Remus has always loved music more than anything and he and Sirius stay out late, really late, going to rough punk shows and stumbling home smelling like smoke with bruised faces, bloodied lips, and just enough adrenaline to go around. Lily gets her tongue pierced because she likes to torture her boyfriend, scratch that, fiancée. There’s a lot of love. Things are the way that they should be.It’s fun until it’s not.Sirius’s schedule starts to revolve around when he has to be sober, and no one has to know if he shows up on missions hungover, right? Or a little tipsy? Lily gets pregnant at twenty years old and regrets it more than she’s regretted anything- especially when her husband’s parents died last year, and her own dad, and the Death Eaters are targeting Order members’ families these days.They deserved a few more years of fun but the world just had other plans for them. At some point, they keep waking up but it never feels any better. All they can do is hold out hope.-The First Wizarding War, in detail. - [1978-1981](Updates on Mondays & Fridays :')
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: No Closer To Heaven [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129391
Comments: 62
Kudos: 58





	1. Blackbox

**Author's Note:**

> hey! welcome to the second installation of my loooong haul series on the marauders. there’s gonna be a (brief) third part as well, but i can’t mention what it’s about without spoiling my plot twist at the end so you can just sit and wait patiently for it lmao  
> as always, individual content warnings will be at the beginning of every chapter once shit hits the fan. you should probably read at least some of it never goes out if you want context for characters’ backgrounds in this, but if you don’t want to then you don’t have to. (this won't be anywhere near as long as it never goes out. maybe 50-60 chapters... but don't quote me on anything. i tend to get carried away)  
> comments are my fuel so remember to leave feedback because authors love you forever for it!! :’)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary deals with the small loss of her family replacing her with a desk chair. Remus goes home, and breaks about every count of the Statute of Secrecy while he’s at it.

_ you fell in love with the sunshine _

_ and you took a walk with a boy _

_ and you spent half a year on the verge of tears just because nothing ever feels like it did before _

**_june & july, 1978_ **

**mary**

School ends and they are free. Free from the horrors of secondary school, Muggle and magical alike, free from essays and due dates, from discrimination and hurt, from being taken advantage of and the worst things in the world. 

Sirius and Remus lease their own little house down in Cardiff, Lily and James are madly in love with each other and believe in a future bright enough to blind, Dorcas and Marlene live together, and Mary is waking up on a camp bed set up in the corner of the living room because her bedroom had been turned into an office space for her dad. 

They had a row about it as soon as Mary had returned from Hogwarts feeling like the loneliest, most pathetic girl in the whole world. All she wanted was some privacy mixed with a good dose of peace and quiet, most of which had been lacking for the seven odd years that she’d spent living in a dormitory that always smelled like a weird mix of perfume and candles, the smell of teenage girls. 

Only Mary’s family lives in London so peace and quiet is never given, and her older sister Martha still lives at home even though she’s broken through into the dating scene and brings home blokes to shag late at night when she thinks no one else is awake.

Mary had arrived home with her trunk and her barren desolation, and her bedroom had a huge desk in it instead of a bed. Her dresser had disappeared. Her dad had pointed out his new office chair, demonstrating how  _ smoothly  _ it rolled, and Mary had started shouting at him.

She gets angry like this sometimes. Ever since the business with Mulciber back in October, her emotions have run close to the skin. She spent most of the winter weeping, smoking, and snapping at her friends. She’d felt like 1978 was bringing something bright and better, but most of it had been the way her friends banded together to support her, and in early June it was just her, her dad, and her dad’s fucking office chair.

So Mary’s camped out in the living room for the time being. When she wakes up, her back hurts, as though she is eighty instead of eighteen. The door to the only bathroom in the flat is shut tight and Mary can hear the shower running inside, so she conjures a toothbrush, a tube of paste, and brushes her teeth over the kitchen sink in early morning light.

Her mum bustles in and bumps her hip with Mary’s as she fills the kettle with water before sticking it on the stove. Mary turns around, the back of her shirt wet against the line of the sink, and scrubs harder at her teeth.

“Vile to do that in the kitchen, Mary, what do we have a bathroom for?”

“Martha’s in it,” Mary mumbles through a mouth full of foamy paste. Her mum flicks her on the shoulder and then turns away to get out some cereal. 

“D’you have any plans for the day? Going to find a job?”

“I’ll start the search after I have a shower.” Cherelle MacDonald gives her youngest daughter a disparaging look. Mary knows that she looks a mess- wearing nothing but shorts and a vest top to sleep in because their cramped little flat gets awfully hot in the summer, her hair still wrapped up in a scarf to sleep in, hand pulling lazily at the toothbrush in her mouth. Her mum steps closer and her eyes widen as she grabs Mary’s hand and pulls it towards her.

“Are those tattoos?” Mary makes a useless noise and pulls away, one finger held up in a ‘hold on’ gesture and then she spits into the sink, washes out her mouth, and holds back nervous laughter. Sirius tattooed her hands at the end of seventh year, because they look cool and the pain almost felt good.

“My friend Sirius did them, they’re so faint, come on, mum, don’t even stress.”

Cherelle shakes her head. “I can’t believe you. You’ll never get a job with those.”

“You didn’t notice until you looked!” This fight is reminiscent of the one that Mary had with her mum after she pierced her own nose in sixth year. Often, Mary’s mother tells her that she gets into more trouble with wizards rather than people of ‘her own kind’, whatever that means, and Mary hates that it’s true and also, mostly the fault of Sirius Black.

“They blend in,” Mary adds, “Black on black. And they’ll fade.”

“Oh, they’d better.” The malice is only soft in Cherelle’s voice, because Mary’s skin is dark and the tattoos are only barely darker. They’ve already faded into nothing but dark grey shapes in her skin and somehow she misses them. James used to get jealous, too, about how Sirius’s skin was pale enough for tattoos but his own brown skin seemed to turn that enchanted ink invisible.

There are conversations in the mornings and the evenings, when Mary eats breakfast and dinner with her family. They all have jobs, friends, social lives. Mary sits on the sofa and watches the world go by. She doesn’t sleep much and wakes up early. Maybe her parents and sister wonder why she’s always up before them, but they never ask. All of them move as though in fast motion, sped up, while Mary sits on the sofa as life plays way too fast around her. They leave her in the dust. All she stays is put.

There is nothing to do, absolutely nothing. Sirius calls every day like clockwork, usually at about two o’clock, and there is always an invitation on his lips, like: “We’re going to a gig later, come with!” and gig can be replaced with film, party, museum, can be replaced with anything in the world and Mary still says no, no thanks, I’m fine here.

Sirius gives up on the invitations after a while. Two weeks after Hogwarts ends, he asks, “Are you okay? I haven’t seen you in ages and I’m worried.”

Mary is sitting in her usual position on the kitchen floor, under the telephone, cord wrapped round her finger. 

“I’m fine, I’m whatever. It’s just hard to do anything. I dunno why.”

“Remus always used to get summer depression when there was nothing to do.”

“How’d he fix it?”

“Found something to do.” Sirius hesitates. “Just come out, Mary. Come hang out.” Mary says that she doesn’t want to go out and Sirius says, “Stay  _ in  _ then, just stay in with us! We’ll pick up a pizza and listen to records and- oh, Mary, you haven’t even seen our super cool rug! Pride of the house and home! I  _ know  _ you want to see our rug.”

It’s not the rug that leads Mary to asking her next question, but the temptation of a hug from Sirius and the sound of his voice in real time. “How would I even get there?”

“Oh, I dunno, I know a guy with a magical flying motorbike…” Mary chuckles but the sound is forced.

“I just feel worse than ever,” She blurts and it’s awfully bleak. “It feels like October again.” Sirius gives her silence for a moment, leaves space open in case she has more to say. She probably _should_ say more. She doesn’t. “I’m sorry, Sirius, I just can’t tonight. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” Because if there is anything to count on, it’s a steady routine of morning / noon / night, and Sirius’s calls breaking through the humid silence at two o’clock in the afternoon, when he and Remus are finally ready to go out for the day.

“Okay.” Sirius’s has his gentle voice on. “I love you, Mary, and you’ve got this. You know I’d be at your door every day if I had your address.”

Mary believes him, but still does not stoop as low as to give him access to her house and family. She wonders what it must be like for the Potters to have a character like Sirius bopping in and out of their house at random. It feels like there’s no concrete universe in which Sirius Black would have ever stayed at home under the tyrannical rule of his family, and Mary is glad that he is free, if only so he can call her up every day and make her feel a little better about the life she’s missing out on.

It’s Lily who Mary turns to when she’s finally ready to leave the apartment for a reason other than a late afternoon stroll to TESCO to buy some ice cream or biscuits. On the last day of June, Mary dials up Lily’s number as she leans back against the kitchen counter and waits for her friend to pick up.

“Hello?” The voice is already incredulous and sneering- Petunia Evans to a fault. Wait, no. She’s married now. Mary doesn’t know her new name and doesn’t care. Remind her why Petunia is always on the other end of the line even when she’s married and should be off with her new husband in a house  _ away  _ from poor Lily?

“Hiya, this is Mary MacDonald, is Lily there?”

Petunia does not reply directly and instead screams away from the receiver: “ _ Lily _ ! Call from one of your friends!” 

“Charming,” Mary mutters under her breath.

“I can still hear you,” Petunia snaps at her. In a moment, the phone jostles and there’s some chatter between Lily and her sister before Lily’s voice comes into clearer reality.

“Hi, Mary, what’s up? Sorry I haven’t called much, there’s just been family stuff, and just, lots of... stuff…” She sounds frazzled and sort of frustrated. “Can we hang out sometime? I really need to just have some  _ fun.  _ James is driving me mad these days and my sister is absolutely…  _ argh.  _ When are you free?”

“I’m sorry,” Mary tells her, “And I’m free literally whenever.”

“Okay, amazing. Can you do Tuesday? I want to get my tongue pierced.” Mary laughs out loud and Lily laughs too, obviously relieved by their easy conversation. 

On Tuesday, July fourth, Mary puts on some real clothes that don’t involve her lived-in pyjamas that deserve a good wash. She wears high waisted blue shorts with thin stripes on them in all colors- pink, yellow, green, orange. Her top is a mustard yellow collared shirt with a blue floral print, and she leaves a few buttons on top undone. Mary had washed her hair last night and now taps the edge of her frizzy hair. 

Mary smiles at herself in the mirror, and that looks more like her.

When Lily shows up, she looks beautiful. Mary has always found her best friends gorgeous and so aesthetically appealing. Lily likes skirts, and today wears a long orange suede skirt and a plain black top with only thin straps instead of sleeves, showing off her pale shoulders. Her face is white and dotted with freckles, and her lips a deep red that match her hair. Other than the lipstick, she wears no other makeup.

She smiles. “Ready to go?”

**remus**

The strange thing about coming home is the curious way that it never really changes. 

The clouds, mostly. They never change. Or the way that Remus’s dog Luke licks his face like he’s a puppy again, even though he’s not really young anymore. For the first time in his life, it seriously occurs to Remus that his dog is not some immortal little creature and will one day die. 

Luke has been there with him through his early years at Hogwarts, through that awful angsty period before his mum started drinking  _ or  _ got sick, then when she started drinking and shouting all the time,  _ then  _ when she got sick, and then when she died. Luke didn’t witness all that extra shit at Hogwarts piled on top, or most of the monthly transformations, but he was there with Remus through all the chaos at home.

Jesus, Remus may be having a bad day, and it’s not the right day to be feeling low.

He’s back in Mold, today, to move the rest of his things out from home. Remus hasn’t been home since last year, in those brief days where his body was physically shutting down. And he hasn’t seen his dad since Lyall abandoned him in the hospital in early January. 

Remus decides almost as soon as he Apparates to Wales that he can’t do this alone, and briefly steels himself before going to Sion’s house. 

Sion is Remus’s childhood friend and brief participant in a strange summer fling that lasted one summer while the two of them came to terms with their fluid sexualities. They’re strictly on a friendship basis these days because Remus has Sirius, and Sion’s sort of friends with Sirius, which adds more to the complication.

Sion is as happy as ever to see Remus on his doorstep. It seems that the two of them are always home when each other comes knocking at the door, just some way that fate has kept them together. 

“Hi, Remus, you look so much better!” Last Sion had seen of Remus had been in a hospital down in Swansea, and Remus could say for himself that he probably looked rather shit back then. 

“Thanks, wow, it feels like it’s been ages since I’ve been home. I’m moving out right now. Want to help me?”

They’re walking down Remus’s street when Sion asks, “Have you seen your dad yet?”

“No,” Remus tells him a little warily. “I kind of don’t want to talk to him at all.”

“Huh.” Sion eyes Remus’s house at the end of the block. Their steps have slowed to something unsteady. “Have you even written to him?”

“Yeah, we’ve written.” Now they’re just standing still. If Sirius were here, he would have just dragged Remus inside by now. At least one moving box would be filled at this point. Sirius can be very efficient when he puts his mind to it. 

Sion scratches his head. “Well, do you reckon we should go in?”

“Yeah.”

Luke is there, barking and licking and jumping on Remus as soon as he’s through the door, but Lyall is nowhere to be found. Typical of two o’clock on a weekday.

“He’s a huge workaholic,” Remus tells Sion as they head upstairs to his bedroom, “Used to stay at the office until ten or eleven. Didn’t eat dinner or anything. What a fucking nutter.”

“I’d rather have my dad out than at home, to be honest.” Sion looks around Remus’s bedroom as they enter. “At least yours has a steady job, like.”

“True, true.” 

They take lots of decorations and assorted items from Remus’s room. Posters, pens, pictures. Loads of records and cassette tapes. Three whole boxes stuffed with books. Then Remus digs through his family’s very disorganized records, thumbing past marriage certificates and records of death to find his own birth certificate. It’s a small blue paper with details of his birth on it. He reads REMUS JOHN LUPIN under his parents’ names, and his weight and height (more like length, for a newbaby), his sex.

Jesus. Thinking about life in general is getting too bleak for him. 

Remus shakes off the existentialism and duplicates a folder to slip his birth certificate into. Him and Sion drag all the boxes downstairs and stand in front of the fireplace while Remus explains the Floo network to his Muggle friend.

Last summer, Remus had gotten spectacularly drunk at a local party and ended up telling an entire crowd of young Welsh teenagers about his lycanthrophy, leading a group howl at the nearly full moon while Sion listened perplexedly. Remus explained it all to him the next day from behind a bad hangover, but he hasn’t done too much magic around his friend.

Or used the Floo network with him. Possibly because it’s illegal. Which isn’t going to stop Remus.

“So I’m just supposed to- you want me to step inside?” Sion ducks down and peers up the chimney. “Like Father Christmas?” His voice is muffled as he speaks into the chimney, and Remus laughs. 

“Yeah, well. We won’t go up or down any chimneys, it’s just the fireplace. You’ll throw this powder down and then speak my address, okay? One hundred thirty eight Fanny Street, alright? But throw the powder down  _ after  _ you talk, are you with me?”

“Erm… maybe you should do it first.”

“Well I have to make sure you make it! You want to stand very still, elbows tucked in- there you go.” Sion has fully stepped inside the fireplace and now tightens his posture anxiously, his brown eyes wide and staring back at Remus from the fireplace. He drags a moving box inside with him too, and then looks at Remus again for instruction.

“What do you have to do?” Remus asks for confirmation.

“Throw down the powder and say your address.”

“And what’s my address?”

“Hundred thirty eight Fanny Street, Cardiff, Wales.”

“Very good.” Sion makes a face at him and Remus only laughs. He hands his friend the dwindling bag of Floo powder and Sion takes a deep breath before throwing down the powder and speaking Remus’s address out loud. The green flames crawl up his legs and then his whole body in a matter of seconds, and then he and the moving box have spun away into nothing.

Remus sends the rest of the boxes through the Floo before giving Luke a big cuddly hug and telling the dog that he’ll be back soon. This isn’t a lie, because although it had been an incredible relief to come home to find his dad gone, Remus thinks that he might make a small effort to try to maintain the relationship. His dad isn’t putting in any effort, but he’s all Remus has left. 

There’s a crowd waiting when he arrives. Caradoc is there, sitting on a huge patterned beanbag sort of chair with a guitar, and so are Mary and Lily. Sion is standing by the kitchen with Sirius and drinking a glass of water.

“Hey, everybody,” Remus tells them as he drags the last box of books out of the fire. “What’s going on here?”

“Just hanging out, Remus, nothing new.” Caradoc strums his guitar. “Little concert.”

“Since when did you play guitar? And what is that chair?”

“Housewarming gift,” Caradoc says and pats the beanbag. “And guitars are cool, right? I had a year with nothing to do but Auror training, you know I had to find a way to blow off steam. I’m joining a band, you know. I’ve been telling Mary and Lily about it.”

Mary looks as though she hasn’t been hidden away at home for three weeks straight, and when Lily greets Remus, he sees some silver flashing in her mouth. She sticks her tongue out at him and he sees a silver stud in her mouth.

“James is going to lose his mind.”

“I  _ know _ ,” Lily says with an expression that says she might have planned this on purpose. Caradoc is apparently there to invite them to some rock gig down in London, and Lily and Mary showed up because they wanted to invite them to go dancing at some club in London, and Sion shakes his head while asking if there’s even anything to  _ do _ in Cardiff, which is traitorous to being Welsh in general. 

Lily and Mary have claimed the only sofa in the living room, so Remus joins the rest of his friends on the floor and debates what to do with the rest of his day. Both events take place tonight, but the gig is a one time thing and they can dance whenever, so Remus tells Caradoc that he’ll join him. Mary invites Sion to come dance with them and he agrees readily, smiles with his teeth and Remus can gauge that as his flirty smile, but Mary smiles right back and if her eyes linger on him for maybe a second too long, then Remus can’t say he blames her.

“How will we get there? Don’t tell me we’ll have to use the fireplace again,” Sion complains. “I can’t bear it.” Lily glances at Mary, who just smiles and shrugs. “How else do you lot get around? Can’t we just take a train, like?”

“If you want to pay money and waste three hours on travel time, then sure,” Mary tells him. She rolls her eyes. “We can Apparate, but that might even be worse than the Floo.”

“It can get worse?”

They do end up Apprarating, a few hours later. The six of them walked around the neighborhood first, because Remus and Sirius sort of wanted to show off the place that is now home to them. Sion agrees to Apparition because he doesn’t know the worst of it and is somewhat of an adventurer, but Remus can see how pale he is as he holds onto Mary’s arm before the two of them whirl away into nothing. 

“Poor bloke,” Caradoc laughs once he’s gone, “I can’t believe that you’ve told him all about wizarding stuff and now we’re magicking about the country with him. If the Ministry finds out- you’re screwed.” 

“On more accounts than that!” Sirius adds, and Remus shoots him a dark look. It weighs on Remus quite heavily that Caradoc doesn’t know about his lycanthrophy and he feels almost guilty for it. Caradoc had been a drug dealer first, a business partner second, but is now one of his closest friends, and Remus remembers just how angry Mary and Dorcas were at finding out about it after six or seven years of friendship.

Sirius only rolls his eyes, which is never a good sign. “I’m going to change and fix my face, okay? Be right back.” He heads upstairs while Caradoc stretches back in the bean bag chair. Remus peers at it. 

“Dooooo yooouu lot want to come over for dinner?” Caradoc asks through a yawn. “I can make something delicious. And Benjy will be there, he’s coming to the gig, but his mum’s dead overprotective and has a fucking minumum number of hours he’s got to be in her sight.”

“Really?”

“Something like it, but you can’t blame her, really.” Caradoc looks at Remus now with those thoughtful, intelligent brown eyes. For the first time since he’s arrived home, Remus wonders why Caradoc is fucking about doing nothing useful on a weekday when he’s supposedly in Auror training. “So what do you say, butt?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> playlists, again: [70s](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/42uI5hWyQbVq31xRQ9JGCR?si=NHVnxxiRSaGvqmjeARhiCQ)  
> \+ [modern songs referenced](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7zYrgwKxOeRdfe3U78PXm1?si=3siXl53CTF6UNYmqg2eItA)


	2. You've Always Been My North Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius is finally exposed to the Muggle punk scene of 1978. On the other side of things, James is the only one (save for Peter) doing what he’s told.

_ from you the flowers grow _

_ and do you understand with every seed you sow, you make this cold world beautiful? _

**sirius**

Looking like a manic, chubby raccoon with good hair is probably what you can chalk Sirius Black up to, especially in the summer of 1978 when all his friends want to do it go ‘gigging’ as they call it, otherwise finding shitty little shows in tiny London clubs and moshing and running around, elbowing people and shoving them, watching as people throw themselves off of the stage, getting kicked in the face by said people.

The black eye Sirius receives tonight purples around the faded eyeliner that he’s smeared around his blue eyes, literally black and blue. The nameless bands of tonight had come on and off stage, playing unfamiliar songs with the same old instruments, most of them unintelligible, and they’re all so  _ hot  _ with long fingers pulling guitar strings or muscled arms banging away at the drums or shaggy, long hair and slick lips spitting down the microphone.

It’s safe to say that Sirius and his friends are addicted. You can see it on their faces as they stumble out of the clubs onto the buzzing streets of London, still summerwarm even in nighttime. 

Benjy’s growing his mohawk back out. Slow going, since his hair was shaved short back in February, but he’s made progress. Mentally, too. He smiles a lot again and tells stupid jokes and he’s who Sirius remembers. He and Sirius go the hardest in the pit, when the music is a thrashing blur of drums and guitar and some gritty bloke screaming into the mic like his life depends on it, and bodily harm is the best way to enjoy this sort of music.

Caradoc and Remus are usually high on something or other and would probably enjoy a different vibe of music but the energy in these gigs is legendary and after this one, tonight, they flood out onto the street with the rest of the crowd with bright eyes and flushed cheeks. This is their fourth night out in a row because none of them but Caradoc have jobs (and Caradoc’s employment is always invariably suspicious), and there’s nothing better to do than have fun.

“Sirius,” Remus says, holding his jaw in one hand and tilting his face towards him. “You’ve a black eye.” His hazel eyes are warily soft as his fingers gently move over the tender skin.

“Heal it?”

“Not here.” Remus drops his hand and Sirius wants to pick it back up and hold it, but they are in public, be it one in the morning or not, and Remus shoves both hands into the pockets of his trousers, looking at Caradoc, the eldest, for guidance. Caradoc has his arm around Benjy’s shoulders and they look rather at home there, together. Benjy’s upped his earring game again and rings of silver shine from each ear- and a chain on his neck- and a wallet chain on his trousers. Sirius would one-up him with his studded leather jacket, but it’s too damn hot for it.

“Where to?” Sirius asks.

“Anyone hungry, because I’m starved. Let’s get some food.” Caradoc leads the way down the street, swaying up against Benjy, and Remus and Sirius follow after them. They end up in a greasy little shop eating trash food. Sirius gets a chip butty and a bacon butty because he’s hungry too, and no one judges him for it and they all sit in the quiet with nothing but the buzzing lights for company.

It’s Benjy who looks around after a while and asks, “What is that _noise_? Is it just my ears ringing from the show?” Remus chuckles into his tea. 

“It’s the lights, mate.” Benjy looks up at the rectangular overheads with something like horror.

“Why are they buzzing?”

“Voltage,” Remus says through a mouthful of chips. “Unregulated voltage. They need to be changed if they’re buzzing, but oh well. You’re not going mad.” Benjy only shakes his head with tired eyes and mumbles something that could be considered offensive about Muggles, but all of them know he’s joking anyways.

They all return to their separate homes afterwards. Often, Remus and Sirius spend the night crashed out on Caradoc’s floor as he’s generous enough to provide blankets and pillows, and Benjy will stay too, but he’s invited into the bedroom. Caradoc’s flat is not the cleanest or the most neatly organized establishment that any of them have ever been to. The Floo-hole is still a ravaged looking tear in the wall that Caradoc says ‘adds character’ and the rest of it is all peeling lino in the kitchen, ugly orangey wall-to-wall carpeting, and the smell of resin mixed with cigarettes in the air.

Caradoc smokes with the windows shut and food rots on his counter because he forgets that Benjy had brought him an icebox to store it in, but neither of them remember to fill it with ice, either. The most basic Muggle inventions seem unbearably complicated to them. Bloody Pureblood Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws living together, what did they expect?

Remus has something to do tomorrow, although the specifics of what exactly are rather blurry, and Sirius has plans with Dorcas to practice dueling, so the pair of them are in for an earlyish wakeup. (Though anything other than REM sleep before nine o’clock in the morning is not anything that Sirius is interested in.) Back out on the street, they say their goodbyes. Sirius slides his hand into Remus’s. Remus squeezes his hand tightly, and they Apparate home.

Cardiff is cooler than London, less crowded. Remus often Apparates a few blocks away from home. Sirius thinks it’s because he’s paranoid, but Remus tells him that he just likes walking home. Reminds him of home, wait,  _ other  _ home- Mold home, which Sirius can’t argue with. 

These days feel clear and perfect. Sirius and Remus never fight or disagree on anything. They live in relative harmony as though they’ve been practicing it for years; slowly acquiring more furniture and decorations for their house day by day, sometimes attending Order meetings or joining up on reconnaissance missions with the likes of Edgar or Frank. It’s nice to be back in the loop with their older friends. 

Remus breaks that night and confesses all his nervousness to Sirius in the darkness of their bedroom as they try to fall asleep. He tells Sirius that he’s meeting some people in the pack that lived in the Forbidden Forest because they think that  _ he’s  _ thinking of joining them. Permanently, like, not just odd weeks living in the forest with them. Remus thinks that he might have to live with them full time, like a few months, and Sirius tells him to at least wait until winter is over. 

Sirius says please and Remus agrees passionately. “I promise I won’t, Pads,” Remus tells him while his eyes shine in the darkness. “But maybe I’ll spend transformations with them. I think I should. I  _ will _ .” And when his anxious mind finds a sort of compromise, it won’t let up, and so Sirius tells him okay, as long as he’ll be safe.

Remus leaves for his meeting early the next day and Dorcas comes over a few hours later while Sirius makes some disgustingly unhealthy sandwiches. They’re only toasted cheese, but there’s bacon in them, and butter on all four slices of toast, and Sirius drizzles some hot sauce on top before digging in. He’s licking the grease off of his fingers by the time Dorcas lets herself in, commenting on the new beanbag and asking if Sirius made  _ her _ a sandwich. 

He tells her that he will when they take a tea break, and she smiles, and they get down to business. Dorcas casts a spell on their pride and joy, the Pakistani rug, and it rolls up neatly into the corner. They shove the coffee table against the wall, kick the beanbag into the kitchen, and Sirius drags the sofa into the entryway where it works as a large block to the front door and also sits tilted at a strange angle, halfway up the stairs.

Dorcas casts a few precautionary safety charms on the walls and windows before facing off against Sirius with her dark, long wand raised in front of her. Sirius does the same. 

“Flipendo!”

“Locomotor mortis!” Dorcas is quicker and Sirius goes flying back across the living room, landing in the kitchen, and scrambling behind the wall to peek out behind the small arch in the wall that separates living room from kitchen. Sirius casts a wordless protection spell over himself, the way he used to do every morning at home in Grimmauld until he grew too tired to care.

Sirius throws a tickling charm at Dorcas from the arch in the wall and her hysterical laughter is enough for Sirius to bound out from behind the wall and disarm her. They battle back and forth for about an hour, throwing mostly bodily curses that won’t mess up the house, but Dorcas lets loose a few blasting curses knowing full well that Sirius will be able to deflect them. 

They take a tea break and eat some biscuits because Sirius had eaten all the bread. He momentarily considers introducing a few vegetables to his diet. Maybe when the summer’s over. Dorcas rants about what there is to complain about- Marlene not being out to her family, the weather being shit in Scotland, the fact that Sirius has trash biscuits, how Moody won’t send any of them on  _ real  _ missions yet.

Turn that frustration into dueling energy, and they’re back to work. Dorcas and Sirius are in the midst of one of the longest back-and-forths they’ve had when Remus comes home to ruin their fun.

Dorcas had sent a stinging hex at Sirius, who had ducked it and crashed into the wall, laughing out loud, sending a jelly-legs jinx right back at her and then Remus had banged the door open and disarmed the pair of them in one smooth motion, catching both of their wands and screaming at them.

“What the  _ hell  _ do you two think you’re doing?” He slams the door shut behind him. “We have  _ neighbors!  _ This is a  _ Muggle  _ neighborhood, idiots!” Dorcas’s legs are all wobbly as she sinks down to the floor with breaths in her laughs, and Remus doesn’t even cast the counter jinx on her. “You- cannot- duel- here!” 

“Come on, Moony, we’ve got to practice-”

“No! No! What if the neighbors had turned up? What if someone had looked through the  _ window?  _ Two of you waving wands at each other and fucking banging sounds, running all over the living room like bloody fools!” Dorcas makes a noise of protest and Remus swears before casting the counter-jinx on her. “I can’t believe you two. Go duel at Marlene’s, or the Potters’. But I’m not getting in trouble with anyone for dueling here, okay?”

Dorcas and Sirius stare at him guiltily. Sirius puts on his puppy-dog eyes and Remus melts. He’s not easily angry, not anymore, and Sirius’s petulance can always just be sighed at or brushed off as plain old Sirius doing something stupid. Sirius distracts his boyfriend with questions of how the meeting was, which Remus brushes off with even more gusto once Dorcas gets interested. There’s still something hard in his green eyes that says  _ not right now  _ and so Sirius says that he’s eaten all their sandwich bread and Remus sighs again, and all three of them go down to the TESCO for fun.

As very young adults or perhaps aging teenagers, grocery shopping is still a sacred sort of activity that can go on for hours at a time. The three of them buy bread and other assorted things and walk back to the house as early evening light turns the streets a warm shade of golden. The weather has been quite fair so far, and Sirius hasn’t had the need to wear his leather jacket since Hogwarts, way back. Seems like forever since they’ve left and at the same time, no time at all.

Benjy Floo’s by their flat during the creation of more sandwiches, dinner. He has his hair spiked all crazy, going every which way, calls them liberty spikes and says that his friend Linda heard about this gig at the Roundhouse tonight, a band called Siouxsie and the Banshees and the doors open at 5:30 but there’s two openers so they’ve got time, and would they like to come?

Dorcas joins the gigging for one night and falls in love. Only fair that tonight, the lead singer of the band is not someone Sirius is attracted to- a young lady with a black teased mullet and heavy eyeliner drawn in strange shapes around her eyes. Dead pale. Benjy’s friend Linda says that they’re sort of goth. Linda’s hair is bleach blonde, bangs in the front and teased in a fan shape in the back. She wears eyeliner too, and a leather jacket that makes Sirius think he should start bringing his own to gigs, bugger the heat.

Caradoc shows up after the second opener and he could have been off fighting Death Eaters or smoking a j and none of them would know the difference; they have as much fun as they can and when the show ends, the night is just getting started. 

They have a long night, that night. All high and blissed out, snacking on whatever they can find and listening to the radio all night long. Remus tells them that he’s thinking of getting a television, something he’s not discussed with Sirius, who thinks it’s a rather brilliant idea. 

Nights like these are all wasted time and easy companionship. Caradoc examines his Pot Noodle and says that he really, really likes the artistic design that whoever made with the packaging. The background is orange and the POT NOODLE letters are pink, round, and on a wavy sort of background. “Very psychedelic,” Caradoc muses as he strokes the cup. Sirius would claim to remember the rest of that night, but it all ends with Caradoc’s poetry about the Pot Noodle and begins again the next morning.

Sirius remembers being asleep next to Remus. Hot sweat of a werewolf’s irresistible body heat, and Remus’s scarred arms soft and strong at the same time, wound gently around Sirius- how he’d peeled away and Sirius had felt so cold. Remus had been gone so Sirius wrapped himself up in blankets and slept in.

Remus and Caradoc wanted to wake and bake. They smoked so much weed that summer. Lily thought it was almost an addiction and Sirius knew that James was half inclined to believe her, the way he’d believe anything she told him. But weed means good food, and Caradoc had cooked breakfast that morning.

Sirius and Benjy wake up around one in the afternoon. Benjy goes to have a shower in their single bathroom, nestled neatly at the top of the stairway, and Sirius goes to find Remus and the source of the delicious smells. He stumbles downstairs and sees Remus lit up by late summer light, early afternoon. Gold and glittering. Simply a god in the eyes of poor, hungover Sirius Black. 

Remus is eating ice cream out of the carton. He licks it off of a spoon, sucking on it carelessly. South Wales Echo propped open on his lap; Caradoc must have brought it over. Remus doesn’t usually read tabloids, but his eyes flicker interestedly over the page. Man, he’s just as much of a brainless gossip as anyone else.

And there’s chocolate ice cream on his cheek. His hands, too, a little smeared from wiping his face and he looks so content and adorable. Remus sucks fudgy ice cream off of the spoon and glances up at Sirius, standing on the last stair in the entryway, and smiles at the sight of him.

Like all he needs is Sirius to cheer him up, and it’s like love at first sight, save that they’ve known each other for seven years plus the lifetimes that they might have lived in. Sirius finishes his walk down the stairs and a new day begins.

  
  


**james**

James Potter has it bad.

Now, we’ve all generally understood that Lily Evans is his  _ dream girl,  _ so on and so forth, but when school ends and things in life start becoming stressful in a way that James had certainly not expected, he’s always brought back to earth by his girlfriend. She’s funny. She leaves her problems at the door, brings this light of incredible hope with her that sings the tune of  _ this can only get better, this can only get better,  _ over and over again because we never look at the past and wish we were there- we look towards the future and see the ways to improve.

Lily Evans looks good when she’s being professional; having dinner with James’s dad, finding a job as a Healer, spending odd days living with her family and returning to James all drained and exhausted. James tells her that between the Order and her dad’s deterioration, she doesn’t exactly need a job, but she looks at him and tells him in no uncertain terms that though she loves him, she’s never wanted to rely on him for money and that she values her monetary independence; responsible to have a job.

She never tells him to get one and she gets hired at St. Mungo’s as a Healer-in-training anyways. Fabian Prewett is two years ahead of her and Edgar Bones’s wife Sophie is too, and they’ve taken her under their wing. Lily comes home wearing pale green robes that make her hair look brilliant and her face is tired because maybe she’s as jealous as he is.

Both of them want free time, want it more than anything.

Sirius and Remus spend their days doing literally whatever they please. Sirius mirror-calls James quite often and tells him about their wonderful adventures around Cardiff, Edinburgh, and most certainly  _ London:  _ record stores and club gigs and punk shops and tattoo parlors. They hang out with Benjy and Caradoc, neither of whom James is particularly fond of. Caradoc is arrogant and takes everything as a joke, and Benjy is better than James at Quidditch and has a penchant for melodrama. Marlene and Dorcas are also part of their irresponsible kick, which leaves James and Lily with each other, sometimes Mary, and often Peter.

Fleamont has spent the past week teaching them how to perform communications duties for the Order. James and Peter work the same shifts sitting in a random ‘office’ in the Potter house and keeping track of who should be where, doing what, and when they’re expected to check in with details by means of either owl or Patronus. 

No one’s taught Sirius how to work communications because he hardly comes by. Family is convenient for him when he needs them, but when his life is looking up, he retreats back to Wales for a life of adventure that James is not invited to. (A lie, maybe. They do invite him. But the Order has always been his main priority and maybe he’s a little overeager about it, but you cannot say that James is indifferent.)

So James, Lily, and Peter hang about the Potter house, two of them living there most days. There’s something so loyal about Lily and her dedication to what’s important, but there’s something casual about her at the same time.

Just something about the way she looks with wet hair all steamy from the shower right after she shakes it out of the towel. It looks dark brown with a hint of red, all drippy down her shoulders, and her nose will be a bit red and she’ll wrinkle it when he stares at her, awestruck.

Her tatty pajamas- jogging shorts and an old tee shirt with holes in it. The fuzzy socks she wears in the mornings. There is something so easy about Lily Evans to love: her sense of adventure, a laugh that lights up her whole face, and an attitude that will stick up for anyone, anything.

Sometimes she will put on a nice dress and her tightest smile for events like a sister’s wedding or a job interview and she will be stoic and professional, but James has seen her in tights full of runs and dresses which hug her curves and have plunging necklines.

He’s seen Lily walking down the sidewalk barefoot, heels hanging loosely from

her hands, and he’s seen her skip and dance down the street under the faint buzzing orange glow of a streetlamp.

At night, he lies in bed next to her when she smells like shampoo and her wet hair soaks their pillows and James thinks  _ oh my god, I could marry you. _

These feelings develop more every day. This summer is cloudless; a golden dream and a royal blue sky and green green grass. Free from school and the future seems so wide open past that small cluster of clouds they have to wade through.

They can do everything, anything. They feel briefly immortalized by puppy love. Like young gods so blissfully unafraid of the world around them. Their names become one as 1978 wears on, no longer James Potter or Lily Evans but James and Lily, as a singular whole.

James and Lily Potter sounds even better.  _ The _ Potters. 

James proposes in late July on a day that will one day not only mark their engagement anniversary but the birthday of their first born son. (The second baby had a due date too, but neither Lily nor her unborn passenger ever lived long enough to celebrate.)

James makes it a big occasion because he’s a sap; gets Marlene to take Lily to the botanical gardens for the day and she runs into James in a garden filled with coneflowers with huge letters made out of breathing flowers spelling out MARRY ME? behind him.

James gets down on one knee and everything while Peter, hidden in the bushes, snaps photos. You can see Lily with her hands over her face, eyes glittering, cheeks red. And then how she throws herself around him in a hug, rocked up on her tiptoes, and then how she cups his face hard with her hands and kisses him so hard that his head spins.

“Yes,” She whispers so Peter doesn’t even get to hear, murmurs it like a secret while James can feel her strawberry sweet breath against his lips, “Yes, I’ll marry you. This is the best day of my life.”

( _ Later, James will joke that they could name their baby Coneflower if she’s a girl, because they were engaged in a field of them, and it’s a family tradition after all. Lily will turn her head to look at James and tell him she wants a family. _

_ “Me too,” he tells her earnestly. Edgar Bones had just had a baby with his wife Sophie and the wee creature had been so small and cute that James had nearly squealed like the girls upon meeting her. ‘Baby fever’, they call it.  _

_ As it turns out, they don’t even have to try hard for a baby, because they get a little tipsy and shag on a future Halloween while wearing weird makeup and funny costumes, and a few weeks later Lily is pregnant. After a while, they learn he’s a boy and decide to shelve the name Coneflower for a later date.) _


	3. Broken Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus learns some truths about werewolf packs and goes home again, but doesn’t break the law this time. Instead, he mends something that had been badly broken.

_ i like that you’re broken, broken like me _

**remus**

Remus used to be an infamously bad liar. 

It was all in the face; his cheeks would redden, his eyes would find anywhere else to look, and the hint of a smile would pull at his lips, which he would try to correct to no avail. For the first two or so years at Hogwarts, Remus was known for his unfortunate tendency to blush and his complete inability to lie, which made him an honest soul that people rather liked.

It’s not as though they didn’t like him after that. But those who had stuck with him through third and fourth year know what an asshole he can be when things get bad and now, he hopes he’s likeable again, but he’s definitely not honest anymore.

Remus is friends with a werewolf, which he never really thought would happen. Her name is Holly, with wild hair and sharp teeth, and today he meets her in Hogsmeade just to talk. Holly thinks that Remus is about to join their pack permanently and has tried talking him into it after full moons, when he’s spent some time living with them. Mostly he hangs in the background with Holly, another girl named Lila, and Will, who is a little older than Remus. They’re the youngest in this pack. No kids, which makes Remus feel better for some odd reason.

Will is even more scarred than Remus. A lot of the people who live with the pack are. Will has a huge jagged scar that cuts his tan face in two and it’s always startling to look at him straight on. Greyback bit him, too, and you can tell by the bite. Greyback leaves them messy. Will’s bite is ridged and ruined, on his neck, permanent teeth marks left right underneath his jaw. Remus hasn’t asked him about it, only knows because Holly told him.

Holly tells him a lot of things. 

Remus sticks with her when he’s with the pack because there’s people in charge and people decidedly  _ not  _ in charge, people like him, her, Lila, Will, young and impressionable. Alden is the one in charge. He’s older, all grizzled and sort of strung out looking. As a wolf, you call him alpha and as a human you just show some respect. Remus has spoken to him twice and is genuinely intimidated by him.

Today, Holly meets him outside of the Three Broomsticks wearing weathered looking shorts and a dirty top. Her usual stitched fur coat hanging off her shoulders. Remus is always surprised by the conditions that the wolves live in. If they’re living in their campsites in the woods then of  _ course  _ they don’t really care about doing laundry, but Remus can’t help but at least consider offering to at least wash some of Holly’s things by magic. She could probably do it herself, he realizes. She just doesn’t care.

She answers his questions about the pack as they walk around Hogsmeade. It’s a nice day, a reddish brown of early autumn permeates and Remus is reminded of Hogwarts with almost painful nostalgia. Remus had asked about when she’d been bitten, wondering vaguely if it was too sensitive a topic, but Holly had replied easily.

“I was thirteen,” Holly explains. “Lived literally in the middle of nowhere, in Norfolk, and this poor bloke…” Her dark brown eyes flicker across Remus’s and then she looks away, out towards where the village ends and the nothing begins. “He was just out there because it was safe. You know. He should have gone to a forest, but he was probably desperate.” It dawns on Remus that she referred to the werewolf who bit her as a ‘poor bloke’ and he frowns as she continues.

“We had a barn. He must have smelled me, or the horses. Or both. I had just finished feeding them and I was shutting up the barn and he ran up on me and attacked me. I didn’t have my wand, I was just out there quickly for the damn horses, and I couldn’t even defend myself. He bit me, I screamed, my dad heard the fuss and showed up, and killed him.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, right?” Holly glances at him. “Bit of a shock for everyone, I’ll say. And so I was kicked out after that, because my dad  _ hated  _ werewolves, enough to kill them, but he wouldn’t kill his own daughter.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Remus. It’s honestly… I don’t know. Maybe I’m better off. I slept rough, found my way to the city, and no one gives a shit in the city. You’re just another kid on the street. I found an old bunker to transform in, but one month… I got caught up, and it was the happiest accident of my life, that I met Jane on the moon, right before we transformed, and then I was in. She took me to the pack, to live with.”

Remus knows Jane, an older woman who is well respected among their group. She’s kind, almost mothering.

“I’m glad she found me. So glad. Because…” Holly’s dark eyes swim with something strange and so familiar to Remus, a wistfulness for a life that had left her behind, a life she had just so nearly missed. “Sometimes it feels like it was better than whatever else there was. Somehow?” Remus doesn’t have the words to reply. “Like it always should have happened. Because once you’re bitten you’re broken.”

Remus has never heard it put into words so eloquently.  _ Once you’re bitten, you’re broken.  _

“It’s forever and it’s nothing. There’s never any recovery. There’s never progress. All you are is a werewolf. But the pack doesn’t hate you, the pack is a family. No one else would have me but them.” Holly ends her story with a quiet sigh and Remus wonders if this is her happy ever after. “So what’s your story?”

It’s after a long back and forth and many personal revelations for Remus that Holly finally asks him, “So are you coming to join for good?”

“Maybe after the winter.” 

She scoffs at him. “If you come live with us for the hardest season, it’ll show you’re not soft.” Out of the many things Remus has been called throughout his life, soft is not one of them. 

“I’ve got my family.”

“What family?”

“My friends.”

“Your  _ found  _ family. Who’s the one you live with?” Remus feels defensive and frowns at her. “I can smell him on you.” Holly rolls her eyes. “All over you. Not much of a secret to us, Remus.”

“Shit.”

“He’s… what? You’re involved with him?” Remus doesn’t reply. “Your boyfriend?”

“And so what if he is?”

“ _ I’m _ not judging. The rest don’t know you well enough. You’ll want to cloak your smell if you join us. It’ll give you away in a second.” Remus doesn’t know what he’ll be giving away- they can tell he’s a useless wizard from a mile away. There’s more that he wants to ask, so much more. The biggest question is  _ why:  _ why this pack is in Hogsmeade, why they’d sought him out in the Forbidden Forest in March, why they attacked the innocent people last year. Remus trusts Holly, but not enough to ask these sorts of questions, not yet. 

The last one he asks is how long he’ll have to stay for the pack to trust him, and Holly reads him with her searchlight eyes for a while before she replies. “At least a month, mate. We’re not just here when you need us.” Remus doesn’t  _ need  _ them. He doesn’t even want to live with them, not really. “So you’re staying warm this winter.”

“I need to think it over.”

“It’s up to you, in the end, but you know where I stand.”

“Holly, I-” Remus touches her hand briefly and instead of flinching away or pulling back from him, Holly stops her slow stroll that has taken them in circles around the village. “I feel like I’m caught in between,” Remus confesses and it’s never felt more true. “I’ve never felt more understood by you, because you know what it’s like to feel like… to feel  _ wrong,  _ but it feels strange to me to live in the woods for months when I have my- my boyfriend and my house and my friends and my life.”

“This is a big part of your life.”

“I know, and I’m just coming to accept that it’s not totally fucked to be a werewolf, that I’m not some sort of monster. Some days, I want to leave everything I know behind, and other days, I couldn’t even imagine it because I love what I have so much. Do you know what I mean?” Holly has been looking at him quite evenly, listening with patience, but now there’s something pitiful in her dark eyes and if her face falls, then it’s not exactly Remus’s fault.

“No,” She tells him simply. “I don’t. It’s always one sided for me. The days where I want to leave everything behind. I never got the love. Not all of us are as lucky as you are.” Another blow, another thing that Remus hadn’t ever considered himself to be.

He’d thought that he was  _ un _ lucky. Bitten by Greyback at age five, hidden away for the next five or so years, and then he was given a whole new assortment of issues at Hogwarts while his family rotted and festered at home, parents destroying their own relationship; self sabotage, addiction, sickness, death. How could that be lucky?

But he  _ has  _ parents. Well, just one of them, now. But his dad’s still alive, isn’t he? No one kicked Remus out of the house. They tried to help him. They loved him. When Remus fell seriously ill, he went to the hospital. He has medications to take and at least two places to call home. 

“Remus, to be honest, you have it as good as it gets. You’ve got us for the full moons, and you’ve got your friends and family when you need them. I’m at least lucky to have the pack, because they’re  _ my  _ family. Maybe the both of us are lucky.” Holly sighs and drags both hands back through her wild hair. “Do you know what the Ministry is doing to us? What they’re really doing?” She takes his silence as means to continue.

“There’s ‘treatment facilities’, and they say they’re testing out potions to cure lycanthropy. They put up adverts around where they know packs might live. The bigger ones, anyways. And desperate people go and take the potions, and you never hear from them again. That’s what happens to people who’re desperate enough to try finding a cure. I’m sure the Ministry’s trying to fucking kill us. You have people who love you, and I at least have those who trust me. Do whatever you want, Remus, but don’t string me along. I’m not any less because I’m a werewolf.”

“Of course you’re not.”

“Then prove it.” 

**lyall**

Lyall is walking down his street with Luke and the sky is hazy pink, orange at the corners, and it’s clear enough that the stars will shine like pinpricks of clarity on darkness, and a tall figure is sitting slouched on the staircase leading up to his house; scruffy enough to be a Lupin, the only other one left.

“Hi, Remus.”

“Hiya.” Lyall is more relieved than he could have ever expected to see his son there. It had been a suspicious thing, a few weeks ago, when Lyall had come home to find some pictures missing and a few of his records gone. These small oddities had given way to complete shock when Lyall had opened the door to Remus’s room and found the bookshelves bare, walls empty, most things taken, even down to the pillows on the bed.

They’ve at least been writing and Remus clarified that he had moved out for good, just wanting to take his things, and Lyall had been at work, so they’d missed each other. But they’ve always been missing each other. 

Remus looks… better. His hair is too long and his face unshaven, but he stands without wincing and when he smiles down at Luke, crouching to pet him, it seems genuine. Lyall opens the door and Remus trails after him, saying something about needing to talk to him, seriously. 

“Do you want dinner, or something?” Lyall asks after he sets Luke free from his lead. Remus sits down on the sofa and pulls Luke onto his lap, smiling widely at the dog, flopping his ears back and forth and the smile leaves his scarred face as soon as he looks back up at Lyall, like it’s always been.

“Later. I need to talk to you.”

“Okay.” Lyall looks around nervously. A ‘conversation’ with Remus either involves being begged for something or being berated for being a terrible parent. Remus isn’t a kid anymore, so Lyall assumes that the latter is going to take place and so what if he’s a coward. 

“I wanted to apologize,” Remus begins, and this is not how Lyall had expected the conversation to go. “For being ungrateful-”

“Oh, Remus-”

“No, no, just sit  _ down,  _ dad, and let me talk, okay?” Lyall sits and watches his son absentmindedly pet the dog while he speaks. “I want to apologize and I want to thank you for trying.” Is he being sarcastic? “After I was bitten, you could have… you could have shunned me, or kicked me out, or hurt me, but you never did. You tried your best to help. Maybe I don’t remember all the doctors and the treatments, but I knew you tried and I’m so, so grateful that you did, that I still have you, and I have a home, and that’s something, and it’s important to me.”

Remus looks at him with clear green eyes that remind Lyall of Hope. 

“And I was a real fucking terror for a while, I was awful to you. It’s not your fault, that I’m a werewolf, it’s not yours or mine, if we want to blame anyone we can blame Greyback, but I shouldn’t have put it all on you. Not to say that I was the only one at fault, but you’ve apologized too, and I thought that was genuine, and if you want to explain yourself for the hospital, well, that’s why I’m here. Because there’s a lot going on these days and dad, I want you in my life. I want you to be part of my life. I’m sick of fighting. I just want to start fresh. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

“Do you forgive me?”

“Of course.” It is the easiest form of forgiveness that Lyall has ever had to give- he’d never blamed his son in the first place, not for the bite, and maybe there had been some chaos surrounding his so-called ingratitude a few years ago, but not now. Not anymore. “I’m not angry with you, I don’t blame you. If you want forgiveness, you have it. I just… Remus,  _ I’m  _ sorry. I was so worried when you took all your things-”

“-you weren’t even home-”

“-and you didn’t say anything, I didn’t even know. I didn’t know if you were just done with me.” It sounds so bleak when Lyall says it like that, as though Remus could have just been done. He had reason enough to. Remus had mentioned the hospital almost offhandedly but Lyall still feels a shame that runs deep through him. There was no excuse for what happened. 

“I’m not done with you, dad, that’s why I’m here.” Remus fingers the locket around his neck and bites at a scab on his lip, like it had been split. Come to think of it, there’s a fading bruise over his eye as well. 

“Did you get hurt?” Lyall asks, and Remus frowns at him. “Your lip.” Remus touches it and then he smiles, unintentionally stretching the scab, and just shakes his head.

“No, well, yeah, but no.” He laughs again. “I go to a lot of gigs in London, and some get pretty rough. It’s fine. Did you say you were doing dinner?” Things are more casual after that. They listen to the radio and Remus hangs about the kitchen while Lyall cooks, telling him all about Cardiff, his house and how Sirius and their friend Dorcas were dueling in the living room like it was nothing, all the gigs he goes to, and recounts a wild tale of discovering the wizarding district in Cardiff.

He seems honestly  _ happy.  _

“So you’re feeling alright?” Lyall asks. “Your lungs and all? Do you still smoke?” Remus makes a weird face and glances out the window, apparently fascinated by the back garden. “Remus…”

“Not cigs so much anymore, mostly weed, anyways.”

“That’s not any better! Where do you even buy it? It can’t be safe!”

“My friend Caradoc is a… erm, you know, I doubt you even want to know the answer to that.”

“He’s the one who you stayed with in January?” Remus nods. “The Auror?” Now he’s all red, grinning blithely at Lyall from across the table. “I could get him kicked out of training.”

Remus tuts at him. “Psh, you wouldn’t. Just a little something to get us through, would you like to try it sometime?”

“I could get fired! Ministry workers are subject to random drug tests, you know.” Remus rolls his eyes. “Keep that in mind if you’re ever looking for work. Speaking of…”

“Oh, leave it, I’m busy with other things.”

“How could you even afford the house? Sirius?” Remus nods.

“He’s loaded. Family fortune, like.”

“I thought he was disowned?”

“His cool uncle left him some stuff, I think the big argument about who got the fortune might’ve led to his disownment, but I don’t really know. He doesn’t talk about it anymore.”

“Do you want to bring him over for dinner sometime?”

“Only if you cook better than this.” Remus gestures at the dry chicken and potatoes that Lyall had thrown together, but he’s joking and laughs again, happy enough to be careless in his own easy liveliness. “Yes, dad, I’m only joking, we’ll come by for sure, when are you free? Are you still working illegal hours?” 

“Hey, my work ethic isn’t something to rag on. Take yours for comparison.” Remus only shakes his head. “You can come by next Saturday.” 

“So you are still working like crazy.” It’s not exactly true. After what happened with the hospital in January, things had been sort of bleak for Lyall. Bleak might be a soft term for it. He’d either worked sixteen hour days or not shown up at work for days; a difference between either manic overworking or depression. The dark blue, heavy kind. Lie in bed all day and shit- it’s tomorrow already?, that kind. 

So, yeah, there had been a sort of ultimatum between being fired and going to a Mind Healer and Lyall hadn’t wanted to start off 1978 unemployed and fantastically alone, the most pathetic he could ever imagine, wondering if it was some sort of midlife crisis. 

“I’m not. My boss told me to… calm down.” An understatement, but Lyall would rather be caught dead than discussing his mental health at the dinner table with his son.

“Good! More time to find a hobby, or get a girlfriend, pick up farming or something…” Remus swipes Lyall’s empty plate from under him and walks over to the sink to do the washing up, the Muggle way. There’s no dish soap and Remus realizes that he can just use magic, which he does- setting the plates to soap themselves and rinse while poking around in the cabinets for some chocolate. Upon finding some, he returns to the table and breaks off a square for Lyall before resettling himself across the table.

Remus rests for only a moment before sitting upright with a little “oh!” and then digging around in the pockets of his coat before swearing, taking it off, and dumping it on the table to get a better angle at the pockets. Lyall looks at the scars on his son’s arms. None are fresh, thank god. They look better, actually, which is saying something. Remus usually wears long sleeves, and in January Lyall had been shocked at seeing his son in the short sleeved hospital gown, his forearms ridged with so many self inflicted scars that there was no smooth skin left. 

They’re still frightening, but some are fading. Like time has left them alone. Not for the first time, Lyall says a little mental ‘thank you’ to whoever sent Sirius Black to befriend his son.

“I have a picture,” Remus says at last, slapping it down onto the table. Lyall picks it up and his eyes widen as he looks at it. Wizarding film, so the two of them move. 

Remus and Sirius. They’re standing in front of a run down looking brick house.  _ Their  _ house. Remus has an arm around the shorter Sirius, who is wearing rather bizarre looking circular earrings and a studded leather jacket. His black hair is shorter than before, just above his shoulders, and he’s grinning like he’s won the lotto. Remus is smiling at the camera with all his teeth, just pure genuine happiness, and Lyall watches Sirius turn towards him, mouth moving silent words, watches Remus laugh, and Sirius stands on his tiptoes to chastely kiss his cheek.

Lyall doesn’t know what to say. He looks up at Remus, who is watching him almost anxiously, and Lyall finds his words. “You look really happy.”

“I am.” Lyall pushes the photo back across the table, but Remus says, “Oh, you can have it. I duplicated it, so you can have one.” Hurriedly, he adds: “If you like.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Thank you.” Lyall draws it back towards him. “I’m happy for you, Remus, I’m so glad you and Sirius are happy.” Happy, happy, happy. Only words used to describe them, apparently. Remus still looks anxious. “Did… did your mum know about you and him?” Remus shakes his head slowly.

“We weren’t together back then. But she knows I’m queer.” The present tense sinks in but Remus does not correct himself.

“She would have loved…” Lyall doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, just taps the photograph. “She would have been so pleased.” Remus is quiet. He looks at Lyall for a moment and again, the pain of familiarity swims in those green eyes, and then he looks down at his hands. Among the thick slashed scars on his wrists and forearms, Lyall sees a drawing on the bony juncture of his wrist.

“Is that a tattoo?” Lyall asks, and the genuine moment between them is lost. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mary & remus 🤝having painful conversations with your parents about your tattoos 🤝 me  
> as always, me projecting onto my characters. anyways i'm having so much fun writing this because the angst levels are currently so low and it's so strange for me. anyways i hope you're enjoying!


	4. A Place Where Someone Loves You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The detailed ways in which Sirius Black is a sexy sweetheart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends! jsyk, i've created a posting schedule so it's not as random anymore. i'll update on mondays and fridays from now on.  
> the title of this chap and line at the beginning is from a poem called "a place where someone loves you" by neil hilborn. watch / listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JyjJbhHciBw&ab_channel=ButtonPoetry) if you like. the line i included just reminded me overwhelmingly of wolfstar.

_ yes, there is a place where someone loves you both before and after they learn what you are _

**_september, 1978_ **

**remus**

Remus is organizing his painstakingly coordinated notes before a meeting with Dumbledore and Moody when Sirius asks him to go get coffee in this way that Remus has never heard before. 

There’s something light in his voice that’s halfway hesitant and Remus looks up at him to see Sirius looking up from his sketchbook, his blue eyes this certain shade of electric.

Remus’s response is nothing but clueless and stupid. “Can’t we make it here, like?”

“Well, yeah.” Sirius shifts a bit, carding a hand back through his hair. He’d let Dorcas cut it the other day. Summertime makes it hot and Sirius is known for his bouts of random, impulsive changes to his appearance. Remus has never seen his hair as short as it was in fifth year, when his mum shaved it all off and Sirius had looked like some punky asshole. His cheeks were hollowed out instead of full, and he looked gaunt and tired. When it grew in again, his hair was unhealthily thin.

It’s thick, now. Remus has always obsessed over it. He looks at it around Sirius’s jaw, and then his mouth, and Sirius keeps talking.

“But we could go get it and like… walk around, or something.”

“I’ve just got this meeting…”

“But you’re stressed. And you’re well prepared, I mean, look at all those notes!” Sirius gestures at them. “You just need to take your mind off of things, and if we don’t go get coffee, or maybe tea for  _ you,  _ you’ll be stressing for hours. Come on. Get coffee with me.” 

“Alright, go on then.”

It doesn’t occur to Remus that they’re on a date until the pair of them are sat on a bench in Alexandra Gardens all surrounded by the leftover summer tulips. They’d sat outside a cafe for a while, drinking blessedly warm things and flirting with each other like idiots until Sirius’s restless energy had led them on a walk, and here they are. Among the flowers. Like two gay fools.

Sirius is talking about Benjy’s friend Linda, who he’s become friends with. They go shopping together. Remus isn’t doing much listening because Sirius is on about punk boutiques (ask Remus if he gives a shit), but Sirius’s hand is held loosely in his own and he can’t stop watching his boyfriend; blue of his eyes, pink of his lips, the animated tone to his words and his stupid mustache, his hair, the fact that he’d taken Remus to sit in this flower garden to distract him from worrying about werewolves and war.

Remus wants to kiss him. Out in public, in Cardiff, in 1978. Remus is  _ desperate _ to kiss him.

So he does.

Sirius is surprised at first, laughing against Remus’s lips, and then he kisses him back like for a moment it’s perfect. Warm, wet, and the thrill pulses right through his veins. Remus kisses a little harder, gives a bit of tongue, but Sirius steadies him with a hand against his chest. When he pulls back, he looks almost distraught, cheeks pink but his eyebrows drawn.

“It’s just- in public-”

“I know, I know.” 

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says, and for once in his life, he looks it. They sit back and in this quiet togetherness, Sirius joins his hand with Remus’s over again. Kissing may be a step too far, but they can still hold hands. 

The sun is all bright rays as it hangs above them. Sun in Wales, a rare thing, late summer. They should have been at Hogwarts by now, but things are different. It is a gorgeous day in an unfamiliar place that sort of feels like home, with each other. Remus sits and for once it is painless. He listens to the soft buzz of bees, the gentle sighing of the wind, the quietness of other voices, life and something else, that golden hum of so much love with nowhere to put it. The thread that ties him and Sirius together, through their hands or etched into heartlines forever.

Remus’s mind is a quiet thing when he meets with Dumbledore and Moody. Curious, the ways in which Sirius can calm him down. That’s the thing about him. How much he has changed. Ever since Sirius left home, maybe ever since what happened with Snape and the Willow in sixth year. Things have changed. Sirius used to be a car out of control, flying downhill and don’t you dare hit the brakes- no one could stop him. And now he can hold his tongue, he can be sweet enough to take his boyfriend on a date. Some days he is stupid with the light of youth, but he’s matured more than anyone has given him credit for.

And for that, Remus is only grateful. 

The Order wants more information from Remus than he has, but he tells them either way. He’s been spending full moons on the floor of the Forbidden Forest, no longer torn apart, and he explains in a small way that werewolves are better together than alone. He says that he trusts the pack. Do they trust him? He’s working on it. What does he need to do to get them to trust him? Live with them for an extended period of time.

Then do it. Do whatever they want. Become someone who would never be suspicious, always well regarded, familiar. Lie, lie, lie.

Remus Apparates home wishing that he could hold the Order at arms’ length for maybe just a few weeks, even a couple  _ days.  _ Because in between the gigs and the parties and the fun, there are Order meetings in James’s living room and god, Remus is guilty about the way they’ve essentially abandoned their best friend to be more mature than them.

But today, the sun is out late. Today, Remus walks down his street as the sun washes him out in gold. Passes by familiar houses; the little white dog that barks from its perch in the window, Margaret’s house- an old lady with homemade window dressings, their across-the-street neighbors who throw their empty liquor bottles in Remus and Sirius’s recycling. It’s still warm out. Remus unlocks the door to his house,  _ his  _ house, but it’s already open.

For once, no one else is there. Just Sirius, upstairs and tattooing himself in bed. Ink on the sheets. He asks Remus about the meeting with brief, almost careless indifference and Remus says it was fine with the same sort of apathy. Sirius shoves his supplies off of the bed, not even wanting to show off the work he’s done today, and then just kisses Remus hard.

They dissolve into each other like they always have. Affection, intimacy, all of it comes so easily to them. Days pass and it’s dirty dishes in the sink, plants wilting in the garden, Margaret bringing by hand-sewn curtains as a housewarming present. Sirius puts them in the front windows that overlook the street so Margaret can see them when she walks by, so anyone can. There’s always music playing inside, either the radio or a record, and they fall asleep warm, wake up sweaty, knowing that they’re loved and they’ll wake up tomorrow for another ordinary day, and they will still be safe.

When morning comes, Sirius wakes Remus up with kisses, trailing all over him, mwah mwah mwah, and they grow wetter, hotter, more obscene while Remus groans something about job hunting later. Sirius straddles him, one thick thigh on each side of Remus, his eyebrows quirked. You worry too much, Sirius tells him. Let  _ go. _

Sirius and Remus have reached the point in their relationship where sex is finally something completely and utterly  _ available,  _ and so they fuck morning, noon, and night, never really not tangled up in each other, spending every waking moment by each others’ side in a place called home, in a city they’ve never really been to, in a world that has some promise for them.

Remus gets a job working at a record store in early September and Sirius gives him a blowjob to celebrate, and then tugs him upstairs, saying he’d just gotten back from a pickup Quidditch match with James, Dorcas, Marlene, and Benjy and needs a shower, if Remus wants to join.

“How’s James?” Remus asks as he shuts the bathroom door behind him, dragging off his shirt as Sirius kicks off his own Quidditch trousers.

“He’s alright, all caught up with the Order. Wants me more involved.” Sirius strips off his shirt and turns on the shower to heat up. “Can we not talk about him right now?” He’s turned back around and puts a hand on one cocked hip. Standing there in just his pants, Sirius looks like he _knows_ how obscenely hot he is. His confidence is always sort of mindblowing to Remus. They screw around in the shower and then Sirius prances back into the bedroom in, once again, just his black boxer briefs before flopping down onto the mattress looking ready for whatever Remus has to offer. 

But for a moment, Remus just stops and stares. (After he turns on the stereo with his sex mixtape playing. Music is an essential that can permeate an entire lifetime, but it is generally most important during sex). This silence could be a tactic to make Sirius a little flushed and uncomfortable, but right now Remus is just caught up in the heat of freedom, happiness, and sex, and love. 

There’s Sirius’s wonderful thick hair, and those color changing eyes (happy blue, serious grey), and his strong shoulders and soft stomach, the faded scars across his ribs and then… Sirius Black’s best asset, if you will, is his ass.

It’s a nice ass to look at. To fuck, to eat, to touch, to do anything to, and his thighs make it even more better because it may be strange to think that his  _ thighs  _ are actually his best physical asset but oh, hell. Sirius has thick thighs. The outside of them is all muscle, hard and smooth under Remus’s hands, and his inner thighs are so soft, all give, and Remus often finds himself doing whatever it takes to end up with his head between those thighs just to touch, kiss, bite.

And Sirius’s boxer briefs are always too tight, black fabric straining over the bulge of his cock and it’s Remus down on his knees, cheeks flushed as he teases Sirius with his tongue and touch, touch, touch, and when he finally pulls Sirius’s pants down and gets started, the buildup had been enough that Sirius hardly lasts; his hands in Remus’s hair and his mouth babbling useless noises.

Then it’s Remus’s turn, Sirius telling him that he wants to ride him and fuck it, okay. They flip back around on the mattress, all messy and sweaty and red cheeked, moving against each other, Sirius’s hair and Remus’s hands and lips and skin and scars and stretch marks. 

After they’ve finished, Sirius just reaches desperately for Remus’s hand, tangling his fingers with him, breathing deeply and contentedly. At the end of the day, Sirius is more gentle and kind than anything. He craves tenderness even more than the wet hot heat of sex.

Remus likes sex. He likes the feeling of it, of making someone else feel good, of feeling good. Of being wanted that much. The way Sirius touches him all over as though he’s never able to get enough, hands on mutilated skin and scars, bones and ribs and it’s all just skin on skin in the end, and Sirius is good at that. Kissing. He’s got a good mouth.

And he’s warm, and heavy, and very, pleasingly soft. He has  _ amazing  _ hair, so Remus pulls on it sometimes when he can’t think of anything else to do, when his mind is stuttering in white blankness where all there is is pleasure and nothing else. And Sirius’s hair, of course. 

Sirius is best after sex, so malleable and pliant, and he curls up by Remus, usually a leg over his side or an arm around his shoulders, or his head on Remus’s chest, or maybe they spoon if it’s time to sleep. Today, in the warm light of evening, Sirius twists towards Remus. They link their legs together, Sirius’s big thighs warm against Remus’s bony ones. Their breaths come warm and soft.

“Clear your plans this weekend, because I’m taking you on a real and proper date.” More of Sirius’s endearing sweetness. “Remember that steak I promised you?” Remus thinks of a conversation from years ago. Literal  _ years.  _ He and Sirius had been high, sitting on the moving staircases and laughing as they were carted around the school, and talking about steak. It was in the middle of fifth year. Merlin, they weren’t even  _ together  _ back then, and they had still flirted shamelessly.

How had it been a surprise when Sirius kissed Remus up on the Astronomy tower? Could either of them have seen anything different happening?

“Our raw steak date?”

“Yes, exactly. Though maybe you shouldn’t eat it raw, I don’t want you getting ill.”

“You sound just like Dorcas.” Sirius rolls his eyes. They look blue in this light, and they flicker warmly over Remus’s face. “But okay. I’ll go eat steak with you. If you insist.”

“And I do.” Sirius smiles. Remus wants a cigarette, not because he’s worried and needs to feel that nicotine rush, but because there's something artful about smoking after sex. But his fucking lungs. Instead, he just waves his wand at the stereo to get it to shut up and curls up to Sirius in bed. 

“I’m a working man, now, though.”

“What’s your schedule like?”

“Mondays and Wednesdays from nine to five, Tuesdays and Thursdays from three to eleven. Fridays and weekends off.”

“What about-”

“I told them I’ve got a chronic illness, which I  _ do _ . Besides being a werewolf. Isn’t it so lucky that I get two? Anyways, I said I’d need a day off each month, and they said sure. I pick when.” Sirius hums thoughtfully. “I can go to meetings in the mornings, and on weekends, you know.”

“Yeah, sure.” But there’s a quiet judgement that Sirius isn’t speaking aloud. Remus knows he's being hopelessly naive trying to work a normal job when he’s fighting a war unknown to Muggles at the same time. He might last through the winter, but it won’t be long before he’ll have to quit. Sirius doesn’t tell him, though. Instead, he just says, “I’m happy for you, Moony. Can you get us records on a discount?”

—

“What are those?”

“Protection runes.” 

They’re lit by lantern light. Benjy had brought them with him as his own belated housewarming gift. First Caradoc’s beanbag chair, and now the paper lanterns that are lit with magic. Benjy says don’t worry about burning down the house, it’s magic, so now their bedroom has a mattress on the floor (they’re still working on a boxspring) and lanterns that float gently in the corners. Tonight, they’re pulsing a soft pink color that makes Sirius’s face look soft and lovely.

Remus props himself up on his elbow, watching Sirius tattoo himself. Sirius has his hair tied up in a messy bun and his untidy bangs fall into his eyes. He blows them out of the way and tilts his head at an angle, making his jaw look sharper. There’s matching twin black bands around his wrist, all red about the edges, and he’s finishing the linework on the backs of his hands. 

The runes are rather simple. Sirius has finished the one on his left hand, since he could trace it out faster with his dominant hand. He’s become rather ambidextrous because of the tattoos, and it helps with dueling, too. The rune on his left hand looks like a straight line with double zig zags drawn through it. The one he’s finishing the lining of on the back of his right hand looks like a jagged ‘R’ with two odd tails coming out the side opposite the bubble.

“Well,” Sirius looks at his right hand, “This one’s for energy. It’ll make my magic stronger.”

“Really?”

“Want to test?” Sirius looks up with a wicked smile on his face. “Hmm…” He flexes his right hand and looks about their relatively empty bedroom. There’s a few posters on the walls- one with psychedelic art and a bright yellow one from Knebworth Fair that Remus had duplicated after seeing on Sion’s wall.

Sirius’s clear eyes land on a lantern. “Coloravia!” It’s wandless magic, but not wordless, and the two of them watch curiously as the lanterns shift to a blue shade. One of them turns green. Another yellow. Then, their colors start to pick up. Sirius’s eyes widen. It’s not long before all four lanterns floating about their bedroom are flashing manically, changing colors each second, making it feel rather like they’re in the middle of a busy club.

Sirius giggles nervously while Remus sighs, lying back in bed and watching the ceiling flash. “Like being at a rave, innit? I guess the rune worked, though!”

“Can you fix them?” Sirius tries a counter charm, but it only slows the speed of the color change. 

“Maybe this was a bad idea, if it makes all my magic stronger… Don’t worry Moony, off you go to sleep, I’ll fix it.” The full moon is tomorrow and Remus is quietly nauseous. He can feel a fever burning away under his skin, and it hurts. Despite all the treatment for everything, Remus still feels like shit on the days before the full moon. Now that he doesn’t hurt himself during transformations, the days after are fine, but there is no way to quell the sickness before.

“Have you ruined this whole lantern thing already? We were only getting started!” Remus tells Sirius, who has dumped his tattoo supplies on the floor and approached the lanterns to try some spells on them, apparently to no avail. “We’re going to have seizures.”

“That’s nonsense!” But Sirius laughs in that nervous way he does when he’s mucked something up. “I’m just going to put them in the hallway, okay?” Remus watches incredulously as Sirius shuts the door on the raving lanterns, leaving them in darkness, and wanders back over to bed, rolling his eyes as he falls back onto the mattress. “I’ll fix ‘em tomorrow. Are we sleeping?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” Sirius draws up most of the blankets onto his side of the bed and they have a little tug-of-war for them. Sirius always wins because Remus is like a human space heater and gets all sweaty if he has too many blankets on. The compromise to their wordless argument is Remus wrapping Sirius up in his arms, sort of spooning but not really. Just holding each other together. 

It’s not long before they fall asleep. No nightmares. Remus actually sleeps so well that Sirius wriggles out of bed before him as the morning sun creeps under the blinds. Remus just rolls over, curling into the pillow, feeling a feverish headache setting in and wanting to delay it by making the comforts of bed last as long as possible. 

Sirius is quietly polite. Remus has no idea what he’s doing while he’s still asleep (turns out he was tidying up, which is rare and at the same time so thoughtful), but is glad he’s left alone for it. Sirius opens the blinds after a while, so sunlight floods in. Remus curls up in bed and squints at Sirius in early morning sunlight. He’s lighting a cigarette and smoking it out the window like a gentleman. Leaning out as he blows smoke. Very tactful.

Remus watches Sirius and his heart undoes itself in love. 

His hair hangs right below his collarbones, and he cards his hands through it with one hand, the other one sucking on a cigarette. He’s wearing black boxer briefs that cling the slightest bit to his thighs, and a black Zeppelin shirt with a big grey airship drawn in hazy grain on it. Jesus, his ass looks so good. There’s shimmery white stretch marks on his thighs that look like a mirage, twisting around and disappearing under his undershorts where they’re more plentiful around his hips and belly.

His arms and legs are scrawled with enchanted tattoo designs that lazily twist and move when he’s in a good mood, a magical one, and his hands, too.

Tattooed fingers loose around a cigarette. 

His belly rounds out his shirt just a little bit, the way it has for a while. But his jaw is strong, and his arms are toned under the ink. He’s growing a mustache over the old stubble that he hasn’t shaved off just yet, and he’s just Sirius in the morning, standing and watching the world outside as he smokes a cigarette. 

Remus watches him even though there’s nothing to watch, not really. A remarkable person doing such an ordinary thing. 

He moves across the bedroom to join him, because being apart is no good. Sirius snuffs out the cigarette hastily as Remus approaches and lets Remus wrap him up in a big, squeezy type hug. Sometimes the two of them are so affectionate that it’s sickening. 

“Mmph, you smell terrible,” Remus mumbles over Sirius’s shoulders. “Do we always smell like that?”

“Like walking, talking fags?” Sirius laughs at the double meaning. “Probably. That’s what we get for being smokers.” 

“Well, at least I’m used to you.”

“At least  _ I’m  _ used to  _ you,  _ Moony, I wouldn’t be smoking if not for you!”

“Tell yourself that, hm?” Remus kisses Sirius’s neck briefly before pulling away from him and stretching as he wanders back across the bedroom. “Breakfast?”

“You read my mind!” As they walk sleepily into the hall, Remus sees their lanterns floating up and down the staircase of their own accord. Still flashing. Sirius bops one of them against the wall as he jogs downstairs, saying that they could bring them to an Order meeting to liven things up. 

“Can you stomach anything?” Sirius asks as Remus sits at the table squashed into the indent in the wall at the end of the kitchen, where the sunlight first appears and lasts the longest as it sets. Sirius stands in the middle of the kitchen with his hands on his hips. “You should at least have breakfast.”

“I can do oats, maybe.”

“Okay!” Sirius turns to the cupboards and Remus watches him, just watches. His toned arms and the dark tattoos a contrast against his pale skin. How he has to stand on his tiptoes to grab mugs from the top cabinet, and how his belly just barely presses against the counter. The way he hums and shakes his head to one of the songs always stuck in there.

Remus loves him so much. He wants to tell him but doesn’t know how without sounding like an idiot.

Sirius is insecure sometimes. Not that he’s put on any more weight than usual, but he’s been maintaining it. Not losing it. Which means getting comfortable with himself. Remus teases Sirius sometimes, mostly when they’re up to no good, and he shows his affection through physical touch. Sirius is the sweet, sappy one who lays on the compliments thick. It always feels good, a little heat of bashfulness and quiet gratitude, but Remus isn’t so good at making the words come out right.

Remus only realizes that he’s been staring at Sirius like a dolt when Sirius turns around and says “ _ What? _ ”

“What?” Remus repeats stupidly, jerking out of his daze.

“Why are you staring at me?”

“Because you look really good,” Remus blurts out of instinct. Sirius narrows his eyes. “You’re really… you’re really something.”

“Wow, Remus,  _ thank  _ you.”

“I just mean that I love you. That you’re really nice to look at and I like you. Like this.” Remus feels his face heat up. “Or however. You just look really good,” He repeats. “I’m bad at this.” Sirius isn’t even smiling. He looks almost abashed and just bites his lip, looking down at himself and then at Remus, uncertain. 

“You are bad at this.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, come here, let me hug you.” Remus does. Folds Sirius into his arms and rocks him back and forth, smelling his hair and feeling his warmth. Sirius mumbles into his shirt, just loud enough to be heard and achingly genuine, “I love you too.” 


	5. Love Letter to the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily’s side of things; painting, potioneering, and partying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lines from another poem at the beginning, this [one](https://ridinkskinned.com/post/638641012421558272/okay-come-on-then-i-love-you-get-up-we-are) from inkskinned on tumblr  
> unrelated but we got hit with a snowstorm last night & the heat in my dorm broke and i am so cold!!!! pray for me

_ we will sleep upside down and in the laps of new friends and on the bellies of our lovers and in the hands of better tomorrows _

_ we will sleep and we will wake up rested and we will wake up happy, and we will wake up home again _

**lily**

Lily Evans is the person on hand- the person who will help, the person who will bake a pie for you, who’ll check out that weird mole on your arm, who’ll mend that tear in your trousers and keep you company and paint your walls.

Sirius tells her it’s because she’s an Aquarius. 

“Are you serious?” She asks him tiredly. They’re in BHS, Sirius’s new favorite store, and looking at paint samples. He gives her an incredulous look and she sighs. “I’ve never understood that astrology crap.”

“We were in the same Divination class, Lily.”

“I get crystal balls and tarot and all that, but seriously? Astrology? Okay, how about this one? ‘Paradise Sky’?” Lily picks up a paint sample and hands it to Sirius, who frowns at it. 

“For the bedroom?”

“If you like.” 

“Hmm…” Sirius compares it to the other collection of blue samples in his hands, and Lily chooses to ignore the fact that they’re all a similar version of the same color. Sirius wants blue for the bedroom, red for the living room, and a comforting pink for the kitchen. He’s still deciding on the extra bedroom, but Lily has already mentally decided that they’re doing it yellow, whether he likes it or not.

It turns out that Sirius is into interior design and also, sort of stubborn. Remus had provided the mature suggestion of just using color-changing glamours on the walls, and then demonstrated, but Sirius had taken offense with the strange sheen that the glamours left and then said that he would take matters into his own hands, if it came down to it. Of course, Remus had just shrugged and left him to it, which Lily wishes he wouldn’t have.

Sirius had sought her out for wall-painting advice and now, as an unfortunate Aquarius with a knack for helping out friends in need, she’s somehow been roped into helping Sirius paint his walls.

Said Sirius is on his tiptoes, snatching a buttery yellow sample that Lily knows deep down is for the guest bedroom. “I could tell you a lot about yourself if I read your star chart. I think I might go with ‘Caicos Turquoise’ for my bedroom, I like the green undertones.” 

“Suit yourself.”

“Like your  _ eyes! _ ,” Sirius continues sarcastically, doing a painfully stupid impression of James, and holding up the sample next to Lily’s face. He’s smiling, and she does too, despite herself. “Look at the subtlety there, the nuance. Just a kiss of emerald! So what time were you born?”

—

It turns out (not that Lily cares, or wrote it down, or has done any further research on it), that her moon is in Pisces and her ascendant is in Leo.

The moon in Pisces is why she’s a horrible empath and has started work as a Healer in training at St. Mungo’s, alongside the one and only Betsy Hollingberry. Betsy is one of the few Hufflepuffs who isn’t a terrible gossip. She cut her blonde hair into an awful wedge after they got out of Hogwarts, terrible enough that Peter confessed to James and Lily that he might break up with her, but her blue eyes are kind and her voice is very soft. Lily can’t really say the same for the rest of the company she keeps.

Training to be a Healer is incessantly hard work. Lily had been expecting such. Her, Betsy, and a pretty young witch named Vishaka are all in the same program and have become rather close friends. They see a lot of each other at work. Betsy is focusing on being a midwife, which Vishaka had privately told Lily was for softies, since she’s going into spell damage. Lily is interested in breaking through into the very small psychology department at St. Mungo’s (the largest at any wizarding hospital, though), although most people she explains it to don’t really understand.

And, of course, since they don’t understand, she has to do a lot of unnecessary work. She follows their attending Healer, a middle aged man named Alexander Fowler, through the halls of the hospital at breakneck pace from dawn until dusk. He pawns off patients onto his students, half of whom are fighting for the more complex cases, and the other half are desperate for the easiest ones. 

Lily gets bogged down with making potions. Lots and lots and lots of potions. Calming draughts, drowsiness draughts, cures for boils, murtlap essence, cauldrons upon cauldrons of pain potions, and enough Pepperup to leave her ears steaming at the end of the day. She assumes it’s because of her glowing recommendation from Slughorn. Lily hadn’t even had to ask him- he’d literally given her a prewritten paper and told her to give it to any future employers. Which had been thoughtful, but she had no idea how far a few good words from him could go.

She’ll be the next best Potioneer at St. Mungo’s before too long, which is a bit of a laugh because it’s the farthest thing from what Lily actually wants. She could scream at the top of her lungs that all she wants to do is be a mind Healer, which is apparently a rare and somewhat looked down upon position, which is just utter tosh.

“I think you need to be patient, and everything will work out,” Betsy tells Lily calmly as they scarf down a quick lunch in the hospital cafeteria. 

“Agreed!” Vishaka says. “We’ve only just started. Give it a few months, at least, and see how you feel then.” 

“But I’m just wasting  _ time _ ,” Lily whines, “I don’t want to be making all these blasted potions.”

“Hey, I’d rather be shut up in the basement all day with a bunch of cauldrons rather than cleaning out infected wounds.” Vishaka makes a wounded face at her salad, which she continues to attack with vigor. “You’re lucky.”

“One minute of patience, ten years of peace.” Betsy’s soft, lilting voice sounds like she’s reciting some Bible passage. Lily just sighs heavily before returning to her food. She’s in a bit of a poor mood today. Usually, she tries to maintain some sense of good faith, but her work schedule, social life, and family issues have started to take a toll. Not to mention the fucking war, but Betsy and Vishaka don’t know about the Order, and Lily makes sure to keep it that way. 

After her shift ends, Lily goes up to the quarantine ward to see if James is there. His mother has been in the hospital since the start of summer. Highly contagious and she’s sort of okay, right now, not getting any worse, in that stagnant state of sickness that Lily knows so well. 

No one is there but Euphemia alone. Lily lets another Healer cast the quarantine spells on her and pulls a mask over her face, tying it up in a way that will most certainly ruin her hair, and then she steps into the ward.

Euphemia Potter used to be beautiful and now is terrifying. The first time Lily came with James to visit her in the hospital, she nearly gasped out loud in shock. Dragon Pox is nothing glamorous. There’s thick, rough green scales on Euphemia’s face, warping her brown skin. Up and down her arms, her legs, and everywhere else. They keep growing, they thicken. A sickness worsens.

Lily stays for an hour or so. She has another sick parent to attend to at home. Euphemia talks to her with all those words that she usually can share throughout the day with a husband and a son, now just Healers and her almost-daughter in law, except no one knows about the engagement except for Lily and James. (And Marlene and Peter, but that should be it. Those who can keep a secret.)

Euphemia is ‘Effie’ to Lily and sometimes she paints Effie’s nails when the Healers aren’t looking. So long as Lily doesn’t touch Effie, they’re okay. A little bit of a risk goes a long way for those half moon nails, today painted a deep orange, whatever polish Lily had in her bag today. She switches colors out when she remembers to, and sometimes they do the same one. Effie’s nails were sky blue all summer long.

Effie says thank you and means it.

“It’s been a few days since I’ve seen James,” She says with the confined sadness of someone locked away from her loved ones. “Is everything okay at home?”

Lily is putting her polish back into her bag, zipping it up, the motions of leaving. “Things are getting busier with the Order. I’ll bring him to come visit tomorrow, okay?”

“Thank you.” How many times does Euphemia say it, and how often does Lily’s dad say it? It’s a comfort to visit James’s mum in that quiet quarantine wing, behind the warmth of a mask, with cool spells warding Lily off from disease. Her dad’s disease is all coughing and the breathing machine, grunting at her instead of speaking, sitting in silence save for the wheezing of his breath and watching the telly until the sun sets and Lily has to get up to turn the lights on.

“Are you hungry?” A grunt. “Here’s dinner.” Nothing at all. “Do you want something to drink?” Grunt. “Here’s your water.” Nothing, nothing, nothing. The television makes noises and it flashes technicolor at them. Lily sinks into the sofa. Her mum is working the night shift, and Petunia is at home with Vernon. Lily and Petunia have only solved things in their relationship by working up a schedule of who’ll stay with their father and when.

Petunia has an accounting job in London, but she doesn’t have to work nights. Lily could stay late at St. Mungo’s if she was dedicated enough. Lily has Euphemia in the hospital, too, and her boyfriend (fiancee, oh my god) at home,  _ home,  _ and the war. 

Lily also hasn’t told her family about the war. She’s waiting for something awful to happen (see: her dad dying) for her to break the news that her own life is at risk because of a position she’s wedged herself into.  _ Give it up,  _ Petunia’s voice tells her,  _ just give it up. If they’re killing you, why would you stay? If they hate you, why would you stay? _

There are a million words to use, a thousand memories. But none of it makes any justifiable sense out loud.

Flying on a broomstick above the Quidditch pitch while the flags whip in the wind and the world is huge and green and everything. Diagon Alley for the first time, the life of everything, the sounds and the people and the curious things in the shop windows, it’s a whole new  _ world.  _ It’s rare and wonderful and amazing. Lily is lucky as anything to be a part of it. 

Yet here she is, in her small house in Cokeworth, falling asleep on the sofa. Even though she was supposed to help her dad get to bed, turn on his oxygen for him. He makes it okay. She wakes up on the weekend. An appointment in Cardiff, painting Sirius’s kitchen, and she’s very nearly late. Makes breakfast for her dad and leaves it on the nightstand because he’s still asleep, and it’s coming on ten o’clock.

Lily showers in her childhood bathroom and puts on unflattering clothes, only looks at her face in the mirror, pale and round and her good lipstick is at home. Home is James’s house. This, here… it feels distant.

Even Cardiff feels better. 

Lily walks up on Remus and Sirius’s house on a bright fall morning, feeling steeled for a new day. She lets herself in and they’re on the couch, sort of, Sirius on his knees and making unfortunate noises while Remus kicks at him and squeaks that  _ Lily’s here, Jesus, Lily’s here!  _ Fucking exhibitionists. Lily takes her hand away from her eyes once safely in the kitchen and as always it’s Remus who scrambles after her, still doing up the zip of his trousers, grinning at her sheepishly. 

“Sorry about that, we didn’t know you’d be on time.”

“Strange thing to assume isn’t it?” Sirius slips in the door behind Remus and wipes his mouth. He winks at Lily. “I’m here to help paint? That’s what I heard?”

“Oh, right, the painting. Totally slipped my mind.” Lucky for him. They paint all day. Rearrange the house- drag the table into the living room and the chairs too. Remus paints the wall in the small alcove where the table is, and Sirius and Lily get behind the cabinets. Lily, the shortest, is instructed to stand on top of the counter to get behind those high cupboards. Remus would bang his head if stood on the countertops.

The kitchen is pink, sort of raspberry. They all wear old faded clothes, ending up splotched in paint. Remus turns on the radio, a rock station. Dire Straits, The Police, The Rolling Stones, which Remus and Sirius like. And they play what Lily likes too, the new Queen, Patti Smith, and Blondie. 

“Women in punk,” Sirius says as ‘One Way Or Another’ fills up their house. “Could be you, next, Lily. You’ve got the tongue piercing, what’s next? Ooh, I know this one!” Him and Lily sing an abridged karaoke to it while Remus laughs, dancing, painting. 

“...I’m gonna get ya, get ya, get ya!” Sirius pounces at Lily from behind (still standing on the counter), his hands around her calves and she squeals and laughs, kicking at him, and he goes “Oiii!” and falls onto the floor, Lily tumbling off the counter after him. After the Sirius-getting-kicked-in-the-face incident, they switch the music to classical and finish the job with no dancing permitted.

Sirius makes them all greasy wonderful sandwiches that they eat at the precariously angled kitchen table which now sits in the living room. They can’t be in the kitchen for extended periods of time until the paint dries, so Remus casts a drying charm on it and they drag the table back in once they’re done eating. 

“Have you got plans for later?” Sirius asks as they finally reassemble in the half painted living room. Done for the day. Covered in dried paint with aching arms from rolling brushes along the wall for so long. Sirius and Lily and Remus all sit like a three person team on the small sofa, Lily’s head in Sirius’s soft lap and her feet in Remus’s. 

“Going home at  _ last.  _ I had the night shift with my dad last night and then all this work before that… god, I’m so tired.”

“What’s Jamesy got planned for you?”

“A massage, I hope.” 

“I’ll give you a ride home,” Sirius tells her decidedly. “You deserve some fun.” It’s anything but fun, it’s screaming at the top of your lungs and hitting Sirius Black as hard as you can while you’re supposed to keep your arms wrapped round his waist and Sirius shouts “hold on!” so Lily stops smacking his shoulders and instead clings onto him like a koala. When they arrive in Godric’s Hollow, she’s crying.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sirius says, the calming words he’d learned from Remus, and Lily hits him again. On the shoulder, sort of just a slap, and she’s shaking and then laughing, crying, shaking, and Sirius hugs her. So then the shaking stops. 

“It’s your Leo rising,” He tells her, which would earn another smack if Lily didn’t love him so much. “That sense of adventure.”

“I’m going inside now.”

“You can’t deny your true calling, Lily!” Lily is walking up to James’s house, fingers flashed in a v shape behind her, and she can hear Sirius laughing. “Thanks for the help!”

She can’t help but turn at the stoop and shout back for him to drive safe. Sirius just shakes out his wind whipped hair and gets back onto the bike while Lily goes home. No flying motorbikes, or distracting radios, or smelly paint stained kitchens despite all the love. There’s love at home, too.

—

The Leo rising, Lily learns, is something she shares with James. He tells her boldly that he has an Aries sun and moon, and a Leo rising, and it’s why he was so popular and the main reason that his natural magnetism attracts everyone around him, and he’s all fiery and optimistic and amazing.

Lily sighs at him. “Sirius got you too, I guess.”

“Sirius did no such thing! His own signs are  _ weak.  _ I’m well regarded. I’m  _ regal.  _ Aren’t you jealous?” Lily just laughs at him. They’re sitting in the back garden of James’s house because there’s always random Aurors and Order members in the kitchen, living room, or just walking around the hallways trying to find Fleamont’s office. 

So they eat out in the garden. On the chilly nights, James casts heating spells on them so it’s still comfortable. Lily likes it better than eating inside, anyways. Euphemia used to keep up the garden and in the spring and summer, there were flowers blooming out of everywhere, something more than magic about it. So much color and life. 

There’s no time for it anymore. And Effie’s in hospital, with two sons who are either too afraid or busy to visit her, maybe both and maybe just neither. It’s hard. Where’s their Gryffindor spirit, Lily thinks, where’s that bravery? Even though she knows where it’s gone. It’s why they eat dinner in the garden. 

Lily spins the engagement ring on her finger, it’s too big and she hasn’t shrunk it down yet because she doesn’t wear it in public. The ring is gorgeous. There’s a small white diamond in the middle, framed by two softly glowing emeralds. 

Lily has only told Marlene about her engagement. It feels unfair to keep Mary and Dorcas out of the loop, but Lily doesn’t want everyone to make a huge production out of it (not yet, at least) because she honestly doesn’t have the time. 

If she tells Mary, Mary will tell Sirius, who will tell Remus, Benjy, and Caradoc. Once Caradoc knows, the whole Order will know in about one day flat, give or take some travel time. It goes the same way for James telling anyone, but he can’t very well keep it all inside, and Peter was there for the proposal to take photos so he gets to know, too. Marlene and Peter are probably the best at keeping secrets, and so far, so good.

Except, one night, Marlene must have had too much to drink and Lily can imagine her now. Marlene gets loud when she’s drunk to make up for how quiet she is the rest of the time, and there's a million ways in how the words made their way out of her mouth but it all ends in Dorcas knowing. It’s terrible to give a Hufflepuff gossip, be it Caradoc, Dorcas, Emmeline, or even Kingsley Shacklebolt. Word gets around faster in their house than anywhere else. Proven fact. 

So the cat is out of the bag. James is giddy about it, as Lily knew he would be, uncorking a bottle of wine as he presents dinner and beaming at her with a distinct lack of restraint as they sit down to eat.

“Sirius is planning us an engagement party,” He explains, “So we just have to go. I know there’s work, and family, and stuff, but it seems like the whole world is having fun except for us.”

“You’re right.”

“Did he not mention it to you? I told him to keep his mouth shut. I wanted to be the one to tell you.” It’s faintly ridiculous how they’ve tried to keep their engagement a secret. The only reason why being that they’re too busy to deal with it at the moment and hell, why did James have to propose before this fall when Lily feels as though she’s drowning in everything she has to do?

“He didn’t say a word. He’s good like that.”

“His birthday’s coming up, we should do something for him.” Yes, they most definitely should. Sirius has been nothing but good this year.

“Can we party here?” James’s eyes sparkle.

“We’re the Potters, Lils. Of  _ course _ we can party here.”

—

Another week passes. At the end of this one is a party, capital P and lots of exclamation marks following it. Word about the engagement has officially gotten out so Betsy congratulates Lily, which Vishaka overhears, and Vishaka tells Sophie Bones, who tells Edgar, who tells Gideon, who tells Caradoc, who tells Alastor fucking Moody as though it’s even  _ important. _

Fucking Caradoc.

Fucking  _ Betsy. _

All the big drama happens on a Thursday. Lily had gotten off work around five. She was late for the meeting back at home, but today, it didn’t really matter. James’s words had been on her mind-  _ the whole word is having fun except for us.  _ So Lily takes her time in the changing room, putting off the time she’ll be spending at the meeting, trying not to feel so guilty about it. She leaves St. Mungo’s and walks through London for a little bit. Goes window shopping. Thinks about what to get Sirius for his birthday. 

She Apparates to Devon as the light starts turning golden, wanting to make it home before sundown.  _ Home,  _ Lily thinks, again, how the word has changed!

Godric’s Hollow is now home, and it is beautiful. The thick, healthy summer leaves change from a resplendent green to a cooler gold and then throw a riotous party of orange and red. Lily walks home in the evening with no jacket and something invisible brushes by her, she looks around and there’s nothing there but an autumn breeze that carries her home. The quality of light changes, too. Preparing for darkness but not quite there.

Lily looks at the Potter’s house from the street, all lit up with warmth. People in the windows, shadows and figures moving in the house. She strides up the front walk and opens the door. Streamers burst out at her and she gasps at all the noise; Mary grabs her and pulls her into a huge hug and everything is about congratulations and how could you keep it a secret and oh, Lily, let me see the ring! 

The meeting is over (thank god) and the party has already started (thanks to Caradoc, no doubt), and Lily is pulled inside to see familiar faces and amongst all of them, the face she always seeks out in a crowd. James. He’s beaming at her and she breaks free from Mary to find him, just him.

He looks nice, wearing something other than a t-shirt or his Quidditch jumpers, and he looks so happy to see her. “Sorry,” James says over her shoulder after they kiss, “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Lily can only say thank you, thank you, I love you. She stays with him for a heartbeat, close together, in this embrace where they fit together just right and it’s only safe. Then Sirius has descended upon them with a bottle of champagne and when he pops the cork, it does a loop-the-loop before smacking James on the head.

There’s still some older Order members floating around who offer their congratulations to Lily, like their old Defense professor Pollock, the hippie, and Sturgis Podmore, who was apparently tracked down by Caradoc and Frank in the spring. Bathilda Bagshot, James’s next door neighbor and close friend of Effie’s, stops Lily and she’s got this bright smile on her kind old face. (Lily didn’t think she was a part of the Order, but maybe she was wrong. Or maybe Bathilda’s just here for the party; young crowd and free drinks).

“Lily, I was so happy to hear about your engagement!” Bathilda tells her, taking her arm.

“Thank you!”

“Dearie, you should see the way that James looks at you. Like you’re the sun, like there are stars shining right out of you. You’ll be so happy together, I’m sure. A long and prosperous marriage.” Bathilda pats her arm again. Her eyes are sparkly and glazed. “I brought you a hat!”

“Oh, my, you didn’t have to- oh!” Lily startles as Bathilda seems to pull a hat out of thin air (magic trick?) and jams it onto Lily’s head. It’s a dark fabric, some sort of corduroy material, in a cap fashion with a brim on the front. “Thank you so much, Bathilda.”

“Of course, dear. You look marvelous.” The old woman smiles at her with such kindness. “Now enjoy your night!”

Dorcas wants photos of them before the sun goes down, so James and Lily go out into the back garden where so many dinners are shared together, just them. James twirls her around, still dancing to the faint music from inside the house and Lily laughs. Dorcas stands there with her camera but Lily forgets about her altogether. James takes one of her hands like in a waltz and Lily laughs again, he spins her with this stupid look on his face and so she kisses him, just for a moment, and she pulls back just to look at him and smile and he’s  _ hers,  _ and this is going to be forever, and Lily has never been so happy. 

Dorcas and Mary are hooting at them from the steps, Mary fanning her face and Dorcas snapping photos. James twirls Lily again and then, her hand in his, they dance back into the house to music on the radio and laughter everywhere.

—

After a while, the scene becomes more familiar. Leftover Order members who Lily doesn’t know well either leave or reconvene in Fleamont’s office, so the living room and kitchen are left up to Lily, James, and their friends. 

Lily ends up in the corner with Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, and Emmeline.

“Okay, hey,” Mary starts. “Lily, you remember Remus’s friend Sion?”

“From Knebworth?”

“Yeah.” Mary turns to the rest of them and explains. “He’s Remus’s friend from Wales, and I  _ knew  _ we had some sort of chemistry back at Knebworth, but then I thought he was queer, but apparently he’s not.”

“Sort of?” Dorcas asks and Mary nods empathically.

“Yeah, sort of. It doesn’t matter, anyways, because we hung out a bit over the summer and then he asked me out!” Everyone squeals in excitement. “But I haven’t said yes, yet, okay, it’s complex.”

“What does he look like?” Emmeline asks.

“Part of the problem,” Mary tells her seriously. “He’s white. I’ve never dated a white guy.”

“You had that thing with Sirius-”

“Oh, tosh, that doesn’t count. Either way, my family would take the piss out of me and my friends at home…” Mary shudders. “And I feel like I should ask Remus if he’s alright with it. I don’t want to make things awkward.”

“But is he  _ cute _ ?” Emmeline begs.

“Yes, he’s cute, he’s hot! Isn’t he, Lily?” Lily thinks of Sion. He’s not  _ super  _ white, if it’s any consolation, his skin is tan and his hair dark, with deep brown eyes and a nice smile. 

“He’s good looking,” Lily admits. “And he’s nice. He plays football.”

“What’s  _ that _ ?” Emmeline asks. Dorcas ignores her, instead calling Remus’s name loudly across the living room. Mary squeals and shoves her, and Dorcas shoves her back, calling Remus once again. He wanders across the room towards them, a curious look on his face and his hands in his pockets.

“What can I do for you ladies?” Mary, looking terrifically embarrassed, tries to hide behind Lily. Remus just looks at her sort of wide eyed and oblivious. 

“You know your friend Sion?” Dorcas asks, which earns a frown from Remus. “He’s just asked Mary out, and she wants to know if that’s alright with you if she says yes.”

“I haven’t decided yet!” Mary squeaks. Remus looks thrilled.

“It’s fine by me!” Remus laughs out loud. “I had no idea, he didn’t tell me! You should go for it, Mary, he’s a good bloke.”

“Thank you.” Remus laughs again and walks away, back towards where Sirius and Caradoc are looking over at them with curious expressions. “Dorcas, I’m going to have your  _ head  _ for that…” And off they go, Mary throwing jinxes at a fleeing Dorcas who can deflect as fast as she runs.

Most people leave after a while. Peter and Betsy, who congratulate them over and over again, and Marlene and Dorcas, who are undergoing an unfortunate stalemate in their relationship despite living with each other, and Caradoc and Benjy, who wouldn’t have personally been invited by either Lily or James, and then Mary, at last. She always stays the longest, these days. Either she holes herself up in London for forever, or she’ll spend the night on a friend’s sofa for that extra comfort. 

Remus and Sirius are the only ones left, and the pair of them have fallen asleep on the sofa and they’re the most precious thing that Lily has ever laid eyes on. Sirius’s round belly rises and falls hypnotically, and Remus is using it as a pillow. 

James has been cleaning up while Lily said her goodbyes to Mary, and now joins her on a loveseat. He’s tipsy, but not drunk, and when he wraps an arm around her, he’s warm. They’re nearly on top of each other, his leg smushed against hers, and he kisses her cheek and then her lips, when she turns fully towards him.

James laughs when he spots Remus and Sirius, and then snaps some photos of them. 

“We could cast some spells on them,” James says almost giddily while examining his sleeping friends, “Hair color charms, or just something exciting for when they wake up.”

“Aw, come on, we’re not kids anymore. Just leave them. They’ve been through enough.”

“Fine.” James pauses, still looking at Remus and Sirius, his eyes sort of soft. “I’m happy for them.”

“Me too.” He looks at Lily, then. Takes her hand and squeezes it, holding it between them.

“...But I’m happier for us.” Lily giggles, not wanting to laugh loud enough to wake them up.

“Me too.”


	6. Homemade Dynamite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary’s having trouble, but at least she’s not an alcohol enthusiast with a flying motorbike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for a panic attack

_ might get your friend to drive but he can barely see _

_ we’ll end up painted on the road, red and chrome, all the broken glass sparkling _

_ i guess we’re partying _

**mary**

The first official mission that Mary goes on is so frightening that she doesn’t leave the house for a week afterwards. (Which isn’t true. She leaves for Order meetings.) She does not call Sion, or Lily, or Sirius. Sirius calls her, which gives her a reason to pick up, but her hands always shake too hard to dial and sometimes she cries when she cannot explain herself, when she has a million words to say but she just can’t, can’t, can’t express herself through spoken language and it’s hard.

Fighting is hard, too. 

Gideon Prewett was in charge of that first mission, which made Mary weary straight off the bat. She’d been summoned by his Patronus, a wild rabbit that left shimmering sparkles over the living room as Mary scrambled to her feet, ignoring her mother shrieking about the Patronus hopping about the living room. Mary hadn’t been able to gather herself enough to send a Patronus back (sometimes happy memories can be hard to come by) and she’d Disapparated straight out of London to meet him outside a burning block of buildings in Sheffield.

Gideon is only two years older than her, fresh faced. A junior Auror, except he hasn’t even finished his required training. It takes at least three years. His maroon robes were stained in smoke, his pale face ashen.

“Mary, hey-” And Benjy had Apparated out of nowhere, eyes widening as he took in the scene in front of them. “Hey, hey, Dorcas is already in there-  _ shit! _ ” And another explosion had gone off, loud cracks from all around, and Mary had been terrified. Gideon wasn’t much with directions. Benjy had been sent after Dorcas to put out fires and throw any remaining Death Eaters in, and there had been shouting everywhere, people running, people telling them to get the hell  _ out  _ of there, and it had been so hot and terrible.

The nighttime turned orange with fire. A huge, green Dark Mark hovering in the smoky sky. All the Death Eaters had run, cowards, all of them. The only bodies dragged out of the burning wreckage were those of innocent Muggles. The newspapers called it a gas leak. After, Mary hadn’t wanted to go home to explain herself, but there had been nothing else to do.

Gideon had told her to go home, that he would report back to communications with it, and she had said okay. Arrived home covered in soot and ash, still coughing smoke, and then had a big old fight with her parents about just  _ what  _ had happened. ( _ Not a firefighter, not a soldier, just trying to help, all I’m doing is trying to help! _ )

The sun rose the next day, but Mary stayed curled up on the couch because everything had been scary and very far away. She spent a day dissociating, the next completely derealized from herself, and the next asleep. After nearly three days of numbing out of body experiences, Mary had woken up screaming from a nightmare; Mulciber on top of her, sparks in the air, Muggles everywhere and screaming, everyone screaming, and her sister trying to grab her in some naive way to calm her down as she thrashed and kicked and cried her way back into reality.

Today, Mary is getting out of the house because she thinks she’s going insane. 

It’s just something small, usually, flickering in her peripheral. Mulciber, in his Slytherin robes or with a shining mask, faceless, grabbing for her. Fire licking at her back. Or a car, in Cardiff, following her as she walks.

Of course she’s going to find Sirius, because it’s one of those days where everything seems pointless and intangible. 

Except for that car. It’s been trailing her ever since she stepped out of the alley that she Apparated into, feeling too spastic and paranoid to show up right on Sirius’s front step. Whenever Mary turns a corner, the car follows. She starts walking faster, trying not to look back, but seeing it on every corner and always there, just behind her.

The car inches closer. It’s slow, just casually trailing her. Whenever she looks back, she can see the driver all dark behind the hazy windshield. Her heart thumps in her chest and she walks and walks and walks. The car keeps following, turning down every street, the engine humming behind her. Mary feels tears in her eyes and hastily brushes them away, not wanting to appear weak.

The car keeps following her. 

She’d done a shitty job with the Apparition, but she has a good sense of direction and heads south, moving through streets and blocks to Remus and Sirius’s house, and the car keeps following, and she turns to look and it’s the same fucking car, and she’s shaking all over, her heartbeat kicking in her throat, tears pressing at her eyes, and the car keeps following.

So Mary runs. 

She sprints as fast as she can down the street, hangs a hard left, sprints one more block and then she turns the corner, passes three houses, finds number 138 and tries the door- open- lets herself in and bursts into tears as soon as she door is shut behind her.

“Who’s- oh god, Mary!” It’s Remus, from the kitchen, and he takes the few steps across the living room to reach her. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“This guy was-” Mary hiccups and gasps for breath- “I was just- this guy was just- he was following me- he followed me here-” Everything seems to be closing in around her and she cries harder, tears streaking down her cheeks, and Remus strides past her and peers outside the door. “He’s driving a H-Hillman…”

“What color?” Remus asks, his voice low.

“Green- is he there? Is he out there?” 

“No…” Mary rushes to the door but there’s no one out there. She wipes her eyes and tries to take a deep breath, looking out for the car, but it doesn’t seem to have followed her. 

She’s safe.

Remus shuts the door and looks at her with worried eyes. Mary is still crying, somehow, and wipes the tears away from her face with both hands while Remus nervously plays with his odd necklace and tells her that she’s okay.

But Mary thinks she’s having a heart attack and her throat is closing up and it’s for real, this time, maybe she has to go to the hospital and she can’t breathe and she’s choking on it, and her chest hurts  _ so _ badly, and she’s going to be sick and she’s going to pass out and she’s going to die, she’s just going to die, she’s going to die. 

And then she’s on the floor still not able to breathe and where is Remus? And where is she? Mary curls up into a ball, head between her knees, crying harshly and wondering what’s wrong with her, her chest aching and her head pounding and her lungs stinging with the aching pain of not being able to breathe, and she thinks she needs to cast a protection spell- what if Remus and Sirius’s house is the next target on the list, what if it explodes, what if there was a Death Eater driving that Hillman, what if it was  _ Mulciber?-  _ but as she lifts her head and takes out her wand, she sees Remus crouching in front of her with a paper lantern in his hands.

Mary stares at it, dumbfounded.

It looks fragile, tearable. And it glows. Softly and slowly, it changes colors. This one is warm colors; a gentle red morphs into burnt orange, which slowly lightens to a pastel pink. Then peach. Then a sunny yellow, like dawn. Mary stares at the lantern. After a while, she reaches out and takes it from Remus, who has sat down near her. After a while, she realizes that she can breathe again.

“Oh my god,” She says, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t even worry.”

“That. That was.” Mary chuckles a bit. “I’ve gone a bit mad?” Mary looks up at Remus, who looks right back at her. “I’m- I’m  _ sorry _ .”

“It’s okay!” Remus tells her earnestly. “Look, I’ll put on any record you like and we can have tea and just chill, okay? Like just take the pressure away.” He sounds like a fucking hippie, like Caradoc, all detached. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I just. I’m just having a tough time right now, fuck. Is Sirius around?”

“He’s off on a mission. I dunno. He’s with Marlene and Alice, and, erm, Kingsley, I think. It’s weird. I dunno what they’re doing, but I trust Alice, you know?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, she’s, erm, she’s done her Auror training now, hasn’t she?” 

“Mhm. Look, would you like some tea?”

“Sure!” Remus pulls Mary to her feet and they walk into the kitchen, Remus turning on the radio using his wand and moving to put on the kettle. Mary realizes that he’s very effectively distracted her using talk of everyday life to calm her down. Grounded her in this oddly calming way. 

Sirius is off on a mission. Remus makes her tea. Mary wonders if she made it all up. 

**sirius**

Strange things start happening in the fall. People sort of sober up, Sirius included. And yeah, okay, maybe they’ve been going a little wild but it’s the end of  _ summer,  _ man, you’re allowed to have fun when it’s warm out and the days are long. Sirius isn’t a winter creature, and fall just means inevitability, and it’s depressing.

Remus had told him about Mary coming home and freaking out with almost casual indifference, and Sirius hadn’t known what to say, not really. It’s difficult to know what to do sometimes. Remus is away a lot of the time, either working at a record shop or going to do research on werewolves, or something. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to Sirius. 

Sirius is usually trailing along after Edgar, being unofficially trained in Auror tactics. He doesn’t tell Remus either. They come home, cook dinner, and dance with each other around their little house like nothing is wrong. 

They have a big house party for Sirius’s birthday, and the police come at one a.m. because they’ve gotten a noise complaint, and Sirius gets really really drunk, because he’s been sober for long enough (two weeks straight, if you ignore Halloween, but who’s counting?). James gets plastered too, and as the company in Cardiff increases in chaotics, they quickly grow bored of their surroundings and decide to take Ziggy for a ride, despite the nighttime and the drunkenness.

Stupid idea, really fucking stupid. But they do it anyway. It’s not like anyone notices them leaving, the house is so packed with people, most of whom are distracted by Remus. He’d bought Sirius a cassette player for his birthday (probably on discount from the record store), and was demonstrating how to record on blank tapes. Getting the Purebloods into mixtape making.

Thanks to all the distractions in the hot, busy house, James and Sirius slip out onto the street unnoticed, dark and cold and stumbling, Sirius jerky on his bike.

“Taking her on the street?” James asks.

“Nah, we’d best fly.” Sirius balances on the bike and James sits behind him. Wraps his arms around Sirius’s waist, familiarly. Behind him, James giggles.

“What  _ if  _ we ran into an aeroplane, how fun would that be? How stupid? What do you think would happen?”

“Big boom.”

James laughs. Sirius revs the engine and they speed off down the narrow street, wavering down the middle of it. Sirius picks up speed, blowing through stop signs while James laughs in shock at the pickup of the bike. The wind blows through Sirius’s hair and adrenaline explodes in his belly; sometimes driving on the street is more fun than in the air. Something about the obstacles and the roar of ground beneath him.

“Think I’ll stay on the road after all!” Sirius shouts as he bangs a tight left onto a bigger street, the back tyre of the bike skidding hard on asphalt. Both of them lean hard into the movements of the bike, used to it by now.

James just laughs in response. It had been a bad idea from the start, but Sirius is hot with liquor and feels like he’s only playing a game. The bike weaves and dips through traffic, pausing at red lights like stop signs, and outstripping cars by lane splitting after riding bumpers. 

James is humming into Sirius’s air and the world seems to bend and snap around him, all wobbly and unrestrained. Wind in his hair, warm arms round his waist, and the thrumming of the bike underneath him. They drive into downtown Cardiff, Queen Street, going way too fast and Sirius scrapes up against a big yellow Ford while James clings tighter onto him. The car honks loudly and Sirius cackles like a madman, pulling the wheel on a bike as they turn onto a street, hoping to get away, but it’s a one way street and he’s turned headlong into traffic and a car’s windshield is right in front of him and then-

Big boom.

–

Alastor Moody is the one who gets them out of prison.

The worst injured one in the whole equation was Ziggy, and Sirius is heartbroken. He’d spend most of the night in their cell thinking about the ways she’ll be even better when he rebuilds her. James hadn’t fessed up to casting a protection spell over them as they drove, but he doesn’t have to. Sirius knows.

In the morning, a policeman opens up their cell and glowers at the pair of them. “You’ve made bail. You,” He points at Sirius, “Have a court date in two weeks.” He gives Sirius a sheet of paper with his charges on it. “Now out you get.” James and Sirius are shepherded out of the cells in the back of the prison and into the courthouse lobby, where Moody is pacing about.

“Fucking hell,” James whispers under his breath at the sight of the Auror. “This is worse than prison.” Sirius doesn’t have time to reply. Moody has caught sight of them and storms over, the sound of his boots echoing on the glossy floors. Sirius is sweating out his liquor and feels hot, arms wrapped around his folded jacket, and he flinches away as Moody clamps a hand down on his shoulder and marches both him and James outside. The Welsh sky is a heavy grey and it’s raining hard. Sirius squints at the grey light, his head pounding dreadfully, and tries to wriggle out from under Moody’s tight grasp.

“You two are in big, big trouble,” Moody snarls. “Black- what’s wrong with you? What in the bloody  _ hell _ is wrong with you?” Sirius doesn’t have the words to reply, he’s dizzy and exhausted. “You owe me for bail, the  _ both  _ of you, and Black, you owe Mr. Schuman for the damage to his car and hospital bills. What’s that- your charges?” He snatches the paper from Sirius’s hands and reads it out loud, much to Sirius’s dismay. “Driving under the influence, driving without a license, speeding, reckless driving, and an incident involving property damage and injuries- these are  _ felony  _ charges.”

Sirius doesn’t meet his eyes. Moody pushes the paper back at him, into his chest, hard. “Am I supposed to be keeping track of you, now? No one else is going to make sure you’re behaving yourself! You need a lawyer, now, because you’re a legal criminal! And you have no records! You’re not even a Muggle! Completely and utterly reckless, just utter stupidity from you. I was afraid of this, letting a Black into the Order.”

“Hey, that has nothing to do with it-” James cuts in, but Moody looks at him with such malice that he quiets.

“I was afraid of this,” He repeats. “We do not have time for this. I don’t even have time to think of a fucking punishment for you two right now. You’re suspended from any further missions. You can make lunches for us, if you like, but that’s as far as I’ll go. The both of you.” When Sirius begins to protest that James did nothing wrong, Moody just talks over him. “We don’t have time for this, Black! Don’t  _ argue _ with me!” His gruff voice echoes into the cold, wet air. 

The three of them stand on the sidewalk. James and Sirius cower under Moody’s dark glance. The formidable Auror glares back and forth between the two of them, and takes a deep breath before speaking again. “We have to go to St. Mungo’s, now.” James’s head snaps up.

“What? Why?”

Moody only shakes his head. “You’d know if you hadn’t spent your night in a jail cell-”

“Is it my mum? What happened?”

“It’s your dad, Potter. Fleamont’s got it too.” 

“What? Got what? Dragon Pox?” James stares at Moody, dumbfounded. “When? What? Yesterday? He went in last night?”

“He’s been feeling under the weather for weeks, but you don’t seem to have bothered to notice, what with your ruddy engagement party, Halloween, and now  _ this _ .” James looks taken aback. “Now let’s go. We don’t have time for your ruddy… theatrics. It’s time to fucking grow up.” James looks at Sirius, his dark eyes swimming with fear and regret. They’ve fucked up big time.

**remus**

“...and the business with Sion has to stop, too, I literally can’t believe we did that. I can’t believe it.” Sirius is pacing about the kitchen, eating an entire Manchester tart that Peter and Lily had created multiples of last night in a fit of intoxicated hunger. Lily likes baking sober but apparently everybody gets more excited about it when they’re drunk or high. Remus had saved this tart just for Sirius under a stasis charm in order to him up after getting out of jail.

“Do you get me, Moony?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not the only criminal here, that shit with Sion was way too far. We broke every single count of the Statute of Secrecy, basically.”

“Hey, this isn’t my problem. You’re the one in trouble with the Muggles.”

“I’m so fucking… I’m so stupid.” Sirius takes another big mouthful of tart and sighs around it. “This is  _ so _ good, Lily can bake like nobody’s business... and then James’s  _ dad _ getting ill? Like what the fuck? Could I have even seen that coming? Jesus, Jesus Christ. Everything’s falling apart.” He laughs, jarringly. “We need to steal a time turner, just fix things over again.”

“Which would land you in Azkaban next,  _ cariad.  _ Ticking the jails off your to-be-incarcerated-in list?” Sirius just shakes his head, pacing the length of the kitchen. 

“I can’t believe myself. I’m so stupid.” He’s been repeating it ever since he got back from St. Mungo’s, tired and shocked. Remus doesn’t disagree with him, but Remus is also tired, and really stressed. He’s got an internal monologue of honesty that has been growing louder and louder in his brain for the last few minutes. 

James’s dad has Dragon Pox, so the Order is down its most rational leader; Sirius is in criminal trouble with the Muggles with not even basic identification to speak of (and falsifying some for him involves breaking more laws), the full moon is next week, and Remus has made some really appalling discoveries about the Ministry of Magic as of late in regards to their treatment of werewolves.

More on that later, because Sirius is apparently the one who needs attention right now, not a marginalized group that his poor, ill boyfriend belongs to. Remus keeps his mouth shut. Sirius keeps eating and pacing.

“So now I’m on probation and I’m fucking useless, and I’ve really got to stop eating like this, I’m such a  _ pig,  _ and I dunno what to do anymore! I’ve got nothing to do! And now  _ Ziggy’s  _ gone, which was my only responsible method to calm down and everything’s just- it’s all just- it’s all falling apart!” Sirius slams the tart down on the counter and throws his fork onto the plate for good measure. There’s a little left, but Sirius had eaten most of it, and he looks sort of sickly. 

He looks at Remus for the first time, it feels like, all night, breathlessly. Really looks at him. His grey eyes are wide and Remus realizes that he’s panicking. Jesus, how many people is he going to have to talk down from anxiety attacks this week?

“Sirius, it’s okay.” Remus stands up and walks across the kitchen to touch Sirius, hoping to ground him, but Sirius shakes him off and takes a few steps back. His back hits the counter and he wraps his arms around himself defensively. “Do you know what the root cause of this seems, to me? Something you can try fixing, if you like?”

“What?” Sirius’s voice is small.

“The drinking.” Sirius’s eyes focus on Remus, wide and afraid. Remus is finally being honest with him, letting a little of it slip through. Sirius gets stupid when he’s drunk, like, real stupid. All self centered and dramatic, like he’s being right now, cradling his poor stomach and frowning at Remus with sadness in his eyes. “You’d been doing fine, but you’re just. You can’t do it responsibly.”

“What?” Maybe Remus is being out of line. Who knows. Who cares if his mum had the same sort of problem, what does it matter? Does anyone even remember that, other than Remus? 

“Every time you drink, you end up doing something crazy.”

“That’s not true! That’s not true. I can do it responsibly.”

“Sirius, you  _ do  _ realize that we. That I. That my mum…” Remus trails off. He thinks of the summertime. They got stoned a lot with Caradoc and went to the pub sometimes, but there were always gigs after that. And Sirius went crazy at gigs, properly violent. Which was standard for the scene, which was fine. But mostly they could get by sober. Ziggy, sex, tattoos, food, and the exhilirating freedom of everyday life had been enough to get Sirius by. 

Things just aren’t so much fun anymore. They’ve been at a strange point, these days. Hard days and fun nights. Despite it all, there’s still things to celebrate, like love, Halloween, and birthdays. And Sirius goes off the rails when he celebrates. It’s nothing new, but it’s growing old.

“Your mum? What about her? I’m not- you think- you think. Wait, hold on, let me get this straight.” Sirius looks hurt, and Remus hadn’t intended any of it like that. “You’re saying I have a problem? With  _ drinking _ ?” He laughs. Remus feels wounded. “It was my birthday!” And when has he used  _ that  _ excuse before? “You were pissed, too! Things got a little out of hand!”

“I hadn’t been drinking.” Remus says it too quietly, and Sirius isn’t listening.

“This is just some, some paranoia with you. Because of your mum. I don’t have a problem, I was celebrating my birthday and I made a mistake, because I was drunk. I wouldn’t have done sober. Jesus Christ, you’re so dramatic.”

“Can you just stop, then, can you just hold off for a bit? Can you just  _ not _ ?”

“Not what? Not drink?”

“Yes!”

Sirius throws his hands up in the air. “Fine! If it’s that much of a problem to you, then fine! Just another thing I can’t do anymore!”

“When you say it like that, you sound like a fucking alcoholic!”

“I’ll stop it, then, I’ll fucking  _ stop _ !” Sirius doesn’t like confrontation and now he looks afraid, as though expecting a reaction from Remus, who hadn’t meant to raise his voice. 

“I’m sorry,” He tells Sirius quickly. “I didn’t mean to accuse you.”

“I’m sorry too.” They stand there for a moment. “I won’t drink, if it makes you feel better.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry for everything.”

“It’s okay.” Sirius breaks eye contact and looks down at his feet, properly ashamed. He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, the way James does when he’s overwhelmed. Maybe he knows too that Remus forgives too easy, that he lets himself be trodden on. Same way with his dad. It’s just these days, there’s so few people close by and Remus has to keep them close because he can’t function alone- never has and never will. Forgiveness keeps people close. Remus steps forward and gives Sirius a hug. Sirius lets him. 


	7. In the Graveyard Doing Handstands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and James, on missions.

_ the only solution was to stand and fight _

**remus**

“Hi.”

“Hiya.” 

Remus leans against the wall next to a scruffy looking gent whose gaze lingers on him for a moment. He looks away, then does a double take, then a triple. Maybe he can’t help it, but his eyes flicker interestedly over Remus’s face, on his scars.

“Sorry, are you. Are you from the- is this about the treatment?” The bloke turns towards him. He’s older than Remus, maybe in his thirties, and he seems beaten down. His face is tired, worn older beyond its years, and his warm brown eyes are a bit desperate.

“I’m not from the Ministry. I’m getting it too.”

“Oh!” Relief spreads on his face. “Oh, good, I was getting worried. That makes sense.” He angles his body more towards Remus, more comfortable with him now that he knows he’s here for the same reason. “I’m Charlie,” The man says.

“Elliott.” Remus tells him. He’s supposed to be undercover, which requires fake names. Moody suggested a disguise, but Remus hadn’t bothered. Among werewolves, he looks downright ordinary. 

He’s on the outskirts of Liverpool, which is comfortingly familiar in a strange way. Just another secret test site that the Ministry has set up for werewolves seeking treatment for their conditions. There’s not much known about the treatment, because no one ever comes back from the test sites. Holly tells him what she knows from the pack, that the Ministry are advertising a cure to lycanthrophy, and those desperate enough to try it are being killed by them.

Way underground stuff. It makes Remus sick. So he’s here, with absolutely no direction on what to expect, at the coordinates listed on a flyer that Holly found for him. Putting himself in possibly life threatening danger, just for information on what’s really happening. 

“So, you’re.” Charlie looks him up and down. “You’re… you’re quite young, aren’t you?” It’s not what Remus had been expecting to hear. He shrugs.

“Yeah. I was bitten when I was five.” Charlie’s eyes widen.

“Jesus Christ, kid, that’s hard luck. You only just found out about this treatment? It’s experimental, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’ve tried it all. This is sort of a last ditch effort for me. I can’t say I really trust what they’re doing, not when they won’t tell you.” Remus shrugs offhandedly after he speaks.

“Oh yeah, I’d say I’m desperate. For sure. When are they supposed to meet us?” Charlie pulls a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and shakes one out, before glancing at Remus and offering the package to him. Remus only shakes his head. He’s trying to be good about smoking these days, not wanting to make his lungs worse when he can’t afford it.

“Half past two, I thought.”

“Right, yeah.” Charlie lights the fag with a flicker of flame in his hand and puffs at it. “So, what else have you tried?” He looks at Remus curiously, and Remus wonders just what to tell him.

What  _ else _ has he tried? Loaded question.

He’s tried everything. Remus has tried lavender, and dittany for the wounds, and wolfsbane. Of course he’s tried poison. And yoga. And making friends. And losing them. He’s tried anger, hexing people, punching kicking screaming and he’s tried turning it on himself. He’s tried cutting himself, killing himself, he’s tried laying in bed and having sex and he’s tried painkillers, steriods, IV drips, writing a will, what, he’s eighteen years old and already prepared for his own death over and over again.

Remus has tried bleeding it out, starving it out, crying it out, fucking it out. It’s all been about getting it  _ out.  _ Never about taking a big deep breath and understanding that this is not just something inside of him, that when he transforms, he is not a human inside of a wolf, he is just a wolf. 

Of course he’s tried it all. Self acceptance, though…. 

“All of it,” Remus tells Charlie. “My parents dragged me all about the country as a kid, trying all sorts of treatments, but none of it worked. Of course. I’ve honestly no hope for this, either. I’m desperate too.” Charlie peers at him curiously. “Where do you go to transform, then?”

Charlie shrugs. “Lock myself up in this abandoned bomb shelter. Far enough away from others. What else can I do? I’ve got a wife, lad, and kids. A baby.” He scratches his neck with the hand not busy with a cigarette. Remus looks at his fingernails, short and ragged. Werewolf nails. “It’s never pretty, but what else can I do? What do you mean ‘all of it’, what  _ is  _ there, even? This is the first I’ve heard of any real treatment!”

Remus realizes at once how ignorant this man is, but not in a  _ stupid  _ way, in a way that all of them are. Charlie doesn’t hate himself, not really, he’s only frustrated. It’s the most basic question: Why isn’t anyone helping us? Why do we have to live like this?

“Listen,” Remus begins. “This might sound a bit mad, but recently I’ve started transforming with a pack. A pack of other werewolves.” Charlie frowns at him from behind his cigarette and takes a small step away from him. “Hey, I know, it sounds a bit crazy. I know. I used to transform in my cellar, alone. And then in an old abandoned shack. I know how it feels.” 

Charlie breathes smoke.

“They found me, one moon. We found each other and I ran with them and I’ve transformed with them every month, ever since. I used to scratch myself so bad when I was alone,” Remus gestures at the scars on his face and Charlie’s eyes follow, “And it was a bloody shitshow- literally. But it’s a lot better with others, like. When you’re not alone.” 

“Elliott, laddie, I’m not trying to join a pack, or anything.” Charlie laughs nervously. “I’ve got my family…”

“I know. I have a family too. I don’t live with the pack always, just around the full moons sometimes. It just helps.” Charlie takes another drag on the cigarette and checks his watch. Remus does the same, and realizes that it’s nearly time for them to go. Where? He doesn’t know. A disguised Ministry employee might show up, or some sort of Portkey. Maybe even just an owl with a letter on where to go next. It’s all very clandestine, but Remus is running out of time, and he’s growing a bit edgy.

So he starts talking fast. “I have people I love, too, and I’m not leaving them for a pack, but it makes it better for everyone. It’s safer. Charlie, the Ministry won’t get rid of your lycanthrophy, mate, they’re killing people. That’s why no one’s heard of the effects of their ‘treatment’, because it’s not… it’s not treatment.” 

Remus swings his bag forward and rustles through it for a pen and a bit of parchment. He scrawls the address of the Three Broomsticks onto it and gives it to Charlie who looks surprised. Up the block from them, a surly looking man in wizards’ robes is walking down the street, looking straight at him,  _ for  _ him. He’s the first person Remus has seen on this block other than Charlie the whole time he’s been there, and Remus instantly knows he’s from the Ministry. 

He shoves the paper into Charlie’s hand and looks at him. “Meet me there the evening of the next full moon, okay? December fourteenth. Just for the night, I’ll take you to the pack.” Charlie spots the Ministry worker, too, and throws his cigarette down on the pavement. Remus takes a strong few strides away from him, makes fleeting eye contact with the dark faced wizard, and then Disapparates.

**james**

As it turns out, probation doesn’t last long.

James is woken up by Edgar Bones, of all people, shaking his shoulder and apologizing. It’s James’s fault for falling asleep on the sofa at five in the evening because he’d sat down for the first time all day and  _ shouldn’t  _ have, but now it’s eight o’clock and something bad is happening. 

Lily’s on the night shift at St. Mungo’s but something’s happening in London, nearby the Ministry, and they need everyone they can get and James is still asleep, wondering how on earth Edgar got into his house.

(It turns out, he has permission from Fleamont. A lot of people have. Moody, Dumbledore, Arthur Weasley, Edgar, Frank, Alice, Sturgis, and the list goes on and on. It makes James feel uncomfortable knowing that he can fall asleep alone and wake up with countless Order members in his house, but if it’s on his dad’s orders, then there’s no arguing.)

When they arrive in London, it’s chaos. Even Edgar is at a loss for words at the moment. There’s dueling taking place all around them, masked people in cloaks and hoods, Aurors, Ministry officials, and there’s bystanders, Muggles, everyone all around all at once. James looks at Edgar, an actual Auror, for instruction.

“Okay, fucking hell, go help the Muggles, okay, help move the crowd away, this is chaos… go on, go on…” And off he runs, leaving James standing there, stupid and brainless, trying to figure out what to do. At first, he has to get a gauge on where he is. James casts a protection charm over himself as he jogs into the main fray, against the tide of people rushing past him, telling him to turn back.

Of course, there’s fire. James can’t yet tell if it’s Fiendfyre but the air around him is hot and he pulls his shirt up over his mouth, not wanting to inhale too much, and keeps jogging and he sees a familiar phonebox, bodies on the ground, someone calling his name.

“James!  _ James! _ ”

“Izzy, oh my god, what’s going on?” Izzy Adams, who has been brought back into James’s life thanks to the Order, runs up to him. There’s blood smeared on her face, and she’s wearing maroon Auror’s robes. “What’s going on? Do you have any instructions?”

“I’m about to go in, it’s.” She’s panting, out of breath, holding onto his arms. “Down into the Ministry- the Death Eaters- they tried to blow up the Atrium but- the street around- shit-  _ Stupefy _ !” She waves her wand at someone in the distance and James ducks a spell. “I’m going in, don’t come though, you don’t come, you’re too young, stay up here, help them,” She gestures at the people around them, looks wide eyed at James, and then disappears back into the throng. 

So James helps. 

As best he can, and it doesn’t feel like much. Mostly he moves people away from the scene, healing wounds and getting people to safety. He runs into Alice and Gideon creating a perimeter around the Ministry and herds people beyond the magical barrier that they’ve drawn up. There’s no other instruction. Even Alice and Gideon are just acting on common instinct and their Auror training. No one knows what to do.

James is bracing himself against a building, catching his breath in the thick haze, when something attaches itself to his leg. He looks down and sees a crying child with a soot smeared face latched onto him. 

“Are you a p-policeman? I don’t know where my mummy and d-daddy are!” She heaves for breath as she cries, and James squats down to properly talk to her.

“Yes, I am a policeman.” The little girl has her brown hair done in two pigtails. The hair ties are pink with sparkly orange baubles on the end. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Genevive. Where’s my mummy, please? I just want my mummy.”

“That’s alright, Genevive, we’ll find your mummy. Can you tell me what she looks like?” Genevive stares up at him through tearstained blue eyes.

“She’s tall, and has yellow hair, like straw.”

“Okay.”

“And my daddy, he has a big green coat. It’s very bright! I was looking for him, but I couldn't find it! Everything’s so dark! Please, Mr. Policeman, where are they?” James looks around the smoke and ash, wishing someone older and more experienced were here. If it were Moody, though, what would he do? He’d probably tell Genevive to join in the cleanup and find her own parents. 

“Okay, Genevive. I’m going to go find your parents, alright, but I need you to hide. You’ve played hide and seek, right?”

“Oh, yes! I’m the best there is! But I want my  _ parents _ !”

“See, I won’t be able to go find them for you unless-” James is interrupted by a huge explosion from farther down the block. Genevive’s face goes even paler under the ash. James says a mental  _ fuck it  _ and pulls out his Invisibility Cloak from where he’s stuffed it into his pocket. His ears are ringing loudly from the blast and when he speaks, it sounds quieter than before. “Here, this is a very special cloak, okay? Put it on and you’re invisible. I want you to put it on and hide- and hide right there, do you see?” He points down the narrow street, behind a big black dumpster. It’s a shelter either way. “And don’t come out until I come back for you.”

“How do I know you’ll come back?” Genevive is crying. “I just want my parents, I want my mummy.”

“I swear I’m going to find them, I promise. I promise. Please just hide. I’ll be back. I need to go make sure your parents are okay. And keep my special cloak  _ on.  _ Can I trust you?”

“Y-yes.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then hide, Genevive. I promise you I’ll be back.” And James leaves her there. He jogs down the street towards the explosion, thinking of Lily first, and then Izzy and Gideon and Alice and Edgar and everyone else…

—

It’s a long story. It’s stupid.

James shouldn’t have given away his Invisibility Cloak to a random Muggle girl with baubles in her hair and tears in her eyes, shouldn’t have let his heart break like that and he shouldn’t have made any promises. Not ones that he couldn’t keep. 

Watch James Potter stagger through the streets with a ringing in his ears and ash in his lungs. How it feels to be Remus on a bad day, how it feels to not be able to breathe. There’s heat and a bizarre detachment from his surroundings. He’s speaking to people, seeing people, but he’s seeing himself too. Like he’s in the backseat of his body.

Where’s Lily, he asks, where’s Lily, where is she?

Alice says she’s down in the Atrium with other Healers. There’s people injured. 

Where’s Voldemort.

I think he’s down there, I dunno, James, don’t go down there, don’t go down there.

James went down there.

Lily was there, so of course he went. Disapparated with Alice grabbing for him and he splinched himself, barely, a chill down his spine and the tip of his little finger missing. Looks like he’s wearing red nail polish. The Atrium is a disaster. Bodies everywhere, Healers among them, and James looks out for familiar red hair. There’s Dorcas, there’s Sophie Bones, but where’s Lily?

Where’s Lily?

He finds her dueling in a hallway, following the noise and the sparks, and he stuns the Death Eater from behind. She sees him, relief and panic in her eyes, and runs towards him. And then someone else Apparates in between them, touches both of their arms, and then they’re gone again into nothing, squeezed through time and space, and James gasps again as he reappears in darkness. 

There’s an echoing, awful silence. (And the ringing. Always ringing). James stares around in the darkness, heart in his throat. Something touches his hand. Another hand. Lily. She works her hand into his and squeezes it tightly to show that she’s there. James closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He needs to get his head clear. Back to real life. He reaches into his pocket for his wand, but it’s gone. He can’t Apparate away. James tries to swallow the rising panic in his throat.  _ How  _ is it gone? Had he dropped it, lost it? If only they could get back to the Atrium…

“ _ Lumos _ .” A glow lights up the hallway. James feels sick to his stomach when he sees the man in front of him. He’s tall and thin with a shock of dark hair, but his face… it’s wasted, blurring, his eyes red and his mouth mean. Voldemort. “Hello,” He tells them. “It seems you’ve had an eventful night so far, is that right? Hard to battle when you’re outnumbered. But I admire your bravery. And stamina, too. You’re not keen on giving up, are you?”

Neither Lily or James reply. They stand there holding hands, wandless, defenceless. James’s mind is blank with panic. 

“Rude to ignore me, isn’t it? Unless you need some coercion…?” 

“Thank you, sir,” James tells him in an unshaking voice. “I pride myself on my determination.” Voldemort smiles at him.

“Ah, yes. James Potter, yes indeed. Your father is a determined man as well, is he not? I’ve recently heard that he’s taken ill. My apologies.”

“Thank you.” James tells him again, his words clipped. 

“And you, Lily. Your father is ill too?”

“He is.” Lily’s voice is small. 

“You two are brave and strong,” Voldemort tells them. “It’s admirable. Love in wartime.” Lily squeezes James’s hand tight. “What if I told you, that there was a way to protect your families? To save them? To make sure the ones you love stay safe?” James frowns. “Your friends, too. Mary, Sirius, Remus, Marlene…” Lily lets out a sharp breath and James glances at her, she’s shaking her head, eyes closed, and then James feels the pressure of legilimency on his own brain. He pushes back hard, fighting to keep his mind clear.

James imagines a box, a reinforced one, heavy and metal, with all of his thoughts and feelings in it. There’s a lock on it. A huge lock. An  _ unbreakable  _ lock. And written on the walls of this box are Quidditch scores. All over it. The Falmouth Falcons won against the Wasps yesterday  _ and  _ the day before, meaning their series will be a landslide, and so they’ll finally have a chance at the National Quidditch Cup and then-

“Stop,  _ stop  _ it, what do you want?” Lily is crying, just barely, but she wipes her cheeks and stares defiantly at Voldemort. James hadn’t realized that she had such a hard time with occlumency. 

“A trade, of sorts,” Voldemort explains. “A little give, a little take. All I need from you two is information. Some insight. This whole war can be over if you agree, so many lives can be saved. You’ll be protected. I can save your parents’ lives. Your lives. All you have to do is let it happen. Just give in to what you know is right, what should happen in our society. All of this could be avoided- the bloodshed, the death, the waste of resources, mine and yours ailke. I’ll make a few exceptions. It could be simple. Less bloodshed. What do you say?”

James doesn’t think about it for even a second. “No.” 

“No?”

James shrugs. “No, thank you. Sir. I’m not a traitor. Sure, I could make it easier, but I never said I took the easy way out. Determination, right? I could do this all night.” Voldemort stares at him. James cannot believe how arrogant he’s being for a man with no wand and little hope for the future. No Invisibility Cloak, no weapons but his mouth and his fists, and he’s definitely not going to be taking down the Dark Lord in a fistfight anytime soon…

Unless…

—

James threw the first punch, and Tom Marvolo fucking Riddle never saw it coming. It was not the greatest escape in the history of them; he’d touched his Dark Mark, Lily had taken his wand, she’d hit him with a stunner, telltale tendrils of Death Eater black snaked through the air and James had thought that you  _ couldn’t Apparate here,  _ and Lily was crying out in pain and then they ran like hell.

She dropped Voldemort’s wand, an awful burn blistering her palm just from touching it. Anti-Muggle technology, maybe. They sprinted back into the Atrium with the hoods on their heels and once back into relative safety, Dorcas had come running towards them, spotted the Death Eaters, and produced an incredible Blasting Curse that kept them all at bay, wrapped them up in a protection charm, and then shoved them into a fireplace, tumbling out of it in Diagon Alley and gasping for air.

James’s world is spinning. He bends over, getting his breath back. The Leaky Cauldron is dark; shattered glass on the floor and no sound save for screaming in the distance. Empty. It seems like the chaos has struck all over London, tonight.

Lily and Dorcas and two bodies have come with them from the Ministry. James watches in detachment as Lily checks their vital signs. Dorcas looks up at him.

“Alright, James? We’re safe now.”

“I need to go.”

Lily looks up too, her eyes wide. “Go where? We aren’t going back there!”

“I need to- there’s this girl-”

“What girl?” Lily asks him, stopping her work on the person next to her completely. “Who? James, we need to find Moody, I need to help clear up. James! James…?” James isn’t listening anymore.  _ Fuck,  _ why does he keep zoning in and out? What’s wrong with him? 

“I need to go,” He chokes out. He walks all the way back to the block where he left Genevive, and on the way, he comes upon a row of bodies laid beside each other on the sidewalk. There are no more explosions and the fighting is over, but the fires still burn. James wonders where Sirius is. If he was here too. He sort of wants him, right now. Wants to tell him that he punched Voldemort in the  _ face  _ and then laugh about it.

Because among those bodies on the sidewalk is a man with an obscenely green coat and James just keeps walking. He finds Genevive; the cloak falls away from her like glimmering, spaceless velvet and she’s still crying like maybe she never stopped.  _ You said you would bring my parents, you promised, you took soo long, where were you? _

James takes the cloak and puts it back in his pocket. Takes Genevive’s hand and guides her towards the red phone booth, the epicenter. Moody is there and James’s brain sharpens up quickly. Once he’s explained himself to the Auror, Moody insults him and tells him to Obliviate her before walking away. 

As though it could be that simple. 

Genevive is standing with her arms wrapped around herself, fear on her face. Someone is talking to her, distracting her. Emmeline. She looks up at James as he approaches, and he tells her that she can go. James squats down in front of Genevive to be somewhat eye level with her.

“Hey, kid. To make sure you’re not hurt, I have to cast a super special spell on you, okay?”

“What?”

James pulls his wand out of his pocket and waves it around her head.

“With my magic wand!” She laughs out loud, beaming with surprise.

“You’re a  _ magic _ policeman?”

“Yes, I am. So if you just hold still, I’m going to cast my spell.”

“Will it hurt?!” She asks anxiously, grabbing onto his hand desperately. “Like a vaccine?”

“No, not at all! It’s magic, of course it won’t hurt, don’t be silly.”

“Okay.”

James points his wand at her head and takes a deep breath. “Obliviate.” There’s a sharp tug of magic in his chest and he feels it wear on him, feels her memories behind his eyelids and there’s him, there’s stupid James Potter with his dumb glasses and awful hair. Pulling out an Invisibility Cloak. Casting a maximized Shield and Protection charm. Smiling at her like an idiot. A big, stupid adult who’s too young for this, too untrained, completely out of his depth. 

James gets rid of himself. He scrubs all traces of the magical policeman from Genevive’s brain and just leaves the smoke, the fire, the explosions and her parents there- and then not. There was never any policeman, and no one ever helped. Genevive was alone for all of it. 


	8. No Saviors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are just fine until Regulus almost burns down Grimmauld Place.

_ we’re no saviors if we can’t save our brothers _

**regulus**

Things are just fine until Regulus almost burns down Grimmauld Place.

Everybody calls it an accident after the fact and of course, Regulus would never admit to doing it on  _ purpose.  _ It had just been a long, long day and he had been trying to cook his parents something for dinner because he was tipsy and thought it might have been fun. 

Of course, Regulus had never properly cooked before. The whole thing had been a great big investigation into a new form of self expression; Regulus hopping about the kitchen as he threw assorted things into a pan on the stove- olive oil, chicken, onions, vinegar, some leafy vegetables, et cetera. 

He had forgotten about the open flame after a while. Forgotten about most of it, to be honest. Whilst digging about in the pantry, he had encountered a blue velvet bag draped in gold, which upon opening, had housed an incredibly ornate bottle of whiskey; all thick cut glass and golden amber tones. Very finely aged. Regulus had abandoned his creation in favor of lounging in the living room and nursing the entire bottle of whiskey until he was quite drunk and there had been smoke billowing out of the kitchen.

If asked, sober or drunk, Regulus Black wouldn’t be able to identify a smoke alarm. He was lying on the rich, plush rug of the living room, rubbing his hands over it, and marveling at the hazy quality of air when his mother ran in screaming, asking if he was alright, asking what the  _ hell  _ he was thinking trying to cook?

She tells him there’s a reason why they have Kreacher and that he’s stupid and to go to bed. So Regulus does. Walburga brings him a potion, later, as he lays in his childhood bedroom and watches the walls move as though there’s an earthquake. Under periods of severe inebriation, the magic of Grimmauld Place becomes literal and tangible. Regulus can feel it under his skin, see it in the way the walls move.

Regulus sighs. He’s been laying low since the attack on the Ministry last week. While some of his friends have been expressing their desire to further the intensity of what they’re doing, striking while the iron is still hot, the Dark Lord says that they’re going to wait. They will keep the Aurors in the dark, keep them looking over their shoulders. Lying in wait. 

Which gives Regulus free time. Never a good thing, especially for someone with no hobbies, living in a madhouse. Maybe it’s insensitive to refer to his dad that way, but Regulus thinks fondly of the old codger. He’s gotten much worse. When Regulus got home from school, he covered everything in sticky pads. Labels.

The staircase advertises itself as such. The banister. Bathrooms: toilet, mirror, toothbrush, cabinet. The parlor: piano, table, chair, sofa, phonograph, record, record, record. Regulus made good headway in the kitchen, though he wasn’t able to to label every individual utensil. So what if his dad can’t think up the word for ‘fork’, and so what if his mum keeps removing all the notes until Regulus affixes them with permanent sticking charms?

She says it makes their house look ridiculous- what would company say? Regulus does not bring up the fact that they don’t have company around anymore. 

So, in the long, cold days following the attack in London (a success, all in all, and followed by some raucous partying in the crowd of young Death Eaters that Regulus has slipped int0), when Regulus isn’t getting pissed with friends, he’s at home getting drunk by himself. It passes the time. 

He drinks the potion that Walburga brought for him and watches the magic in the wall pulse and squirm. Evan floos by later that night and finds Regulus still in bed, still staring at the wall. They go meet Mulciber in another graveyard and raise the dead. Regulus spends the entirety of the next day in bed and does not get up for any reason. Next morning, he only gets out of bed because he has to piss so badly and his head aches and then while he’s sitting in the kitchen, half dressed, Josephine Macnair strides in.

Regulus groans.

“How- why do people think it’s okay to just walk in here?”

“If we have the Floo address, then we’re allowed in. Of course  _ my  _ family is allowed in here. Come on, then, Mulciber’s got a mission for us.”

“I’m busy.” Josephine gives him a look. She’s Theodora’s best friend and had therefore become somewhat close with Regulus. After the breakup, he assumed that he and Theodora might find some sort of distance in their relationship, but no such thing happened. In fact, she wanted to hang out with him  _ more,  _ whenever she can _.  _ He supposes it’s because he’s sort of fallen off the deep end. Hogwarts dropout, amateur foot soldier, wasted Quidditch player. 

He’s not busy, he’s sitting in his pyjamas and drinking tea because coffee doesn’t agree with his sensitive stomach. 

“Come along, Regulus, get dressed.”

“Listen, Josephine, do you realize that Mulciber’s only a year older than us? Since when have we followed what he says?  _ I _ follow the Dark Lord’s instructions. Not Mulciber’s.”

“You follow whoever gives you instructions. Don’t worry, we aren’t even doing anything. We’re only spying.”

“Spying?” Regulus perks up. He can bring a flask along if they’re going to be sitting around all day. He could make sandwiches. He could  _ cook! _

—

So they get tipsy on a mission. It’s been known to happen, right? And it turns out to be quite fun. Anthony Scabior, Josephine Macnair, and Regulus Black can be found on a Sunday afternoon in Godric’s Hollow passing a flask back and forth all the while taking turns peering through a large pair of omnioculars.

Spying is fun. None of them are disguised, and neither are the people they’re watching. 

“Oho!” Anthony says in a joyous voice. “There’s Danny’s old bird, what’s her name, Mildred?”

“Mary,” Josephine and Regulus respond in unison. Josephine writes down her name. “With Remus Lupin and…” She writes down Sirius’s name but doesn’t say it out loud. The three of them watch the trio disappear behind the heavy wards that surround their meeting-house. Regulus knows that the Potters live in Godric’s Hollow, but the Potter parents are in the hospital with Dragon Pox, so Mulciber is apparently worried that Dumbledore’s resistance effort will find a new home base. 

Most of them are Aurors. It was hard to tie everybody together, at first. Mulciber, Snape, and Selwyn were the ones who pieced it all together. Not everyone who shows up to fight are Aurors, and most of them are barely older than Regulus himself. So now they’re spying, jotting down the names of people so casually walking down the street like nothing at all is wrong. 

“Who’s that?” Anthony asks, squinting into the omnioculars. Regulus peers at the dark haired man walking down the street, but doesn’t recognize him. 

“Oh, Edgar Bones!” Josephine chirps, and scrawls his name down too. “We’re working on tracking down his family to kill.”

“Brill,” Anthony responds languidly. “The flask, Reggie?” Regulus passes it to him. “You’re a proper encyclopedia, Josie, you know that? Can recognize anyone. Like a bloody yearbook.”

“Thank youu! Give me some of that! Reg, you take over.” She drops the notebook into Regulus’s lap and he glances down at the names and information scrawled there.

  * _Arthur Weasley, blood traitor, Ottery St. Catchpole_


  * _Mundungus Fletcher, half blood scum, location ?_


  * _Alice Longbottom, blood traitor, location ?_


  * _Emma Robinson, blood traitor, location ?_


  * _Mary MacDonald, mudblood, London - unspecified_


  * _Remus Lupin, half breed/blood, location unknown (Wales?)_


  * _Sirius Black, blood traitor, location ?_


  * _Edgar Bones, blood traitor, location ?_



“Crikey, Josephine, if you show this crap to Mulciber, we’ll be stuck tracking for the next few weeks.” Regulus looks up at the girl. All of them have been hunched over behind a low stone wall for the past few hours, and Josephine is sitting at an odd angle to combat the stiffness. She has long, dark brown hair and eerie blue eyes that match her older brother’s. Walden Macnair works both for the Ministry and for the Dark Lord, and has been passing information for as long as he’s worked there. He gives Regulus the creeps.

“I like tracking,” Josephine tells him. “And we can do disguises. Lots of travel. Good fun!”

“Hear, hear!”

“ _ They  _ will hear if you keep shouting like this,” Regulus whispers to Anthony and Josephine, but all of them are giggling a bit. “Okay, maybe we’ll track. Maybe.” He looks back down at the sheet in his hands and thinks of Sirius. His house in Wales. The address that he wrote out for Regulus without any prior judgement. Giving it away to a  _ Death Eater,  _ to his worst fucking enemy. Soft, brainless, trusting Gryffindor. Regulus’s stupid older brother.

“Shall we tail some of them when their meeting is over?” He looks up at his friends. “Could be fun.”

“Oh, sure!” Josephine takes the paper back from him and Anthony crowds around it to look at the list. “Mmm, Robinson’s a good asset, I could go after her.”

“I want to find Bones!” Anthony exclaims. “Man, Mulciber would promote me on  _ sight  _ if I found out where Bones lived.”

“Promote?” Josephine just rolls her eyes at Regulus’s question.

“Okay, okay, this is fun!” Anthony continues, putting down the omnioculars. “Josie takes Robinson, I get Bones, what about you, Regulus? Oh, what if you went after Alastor Moody? That would be killer!”

“Killer!” Josephine adds. “Get it? Get it?”

“I’m not killing Moody anytime soon, sorry to ruin your fun.” Regulus snatches the flask back from Josephine, who just watches him curiously as he takes a swig from it. Damn, nearly empty. “But maybe I’ll go after my brother.” Regulus swirls the lid of the flask back on while his friends exchange glances. “I think I’ll track down Sirius.”

—

It’s a cop out, because Regulus already knows where Sirius lives. He decides to go find him the next day, Monday. Except when he wakes up, his mother is screaming about his father attacking her, and when Regulus reviews the events with Orion, playing the role of mediator, his father insists that there was a stranger in his bedroom and he attacked her out of self defense. Walburga has the bruises to show for it.

She sits with Regulus in the living room and tells him that she's been thinking of committing Orion to St. Mungo’s, ‘or somewhere like that.’

“What?” Regulus asks. “He’s your husband! He’s my father!”

“He  _ hurt  _ me. It’s inexcusable!” 

“Mum, something’s  _ wrong  _ with him. You have to be patient.” 

“Patience will only take you so far!” Walburga puts her hands on Regulus’s shoulders and stares at him in such a way that makes him feel like a young child. “Regulus, your father is a danger, and a burden to this family. If St. Mungo’s can’t fix him, he’d be better off dead.”

This conversation leads Regulus to pickling his head with red wine for the rest of the day, sipping his way through a bottle as he talks to his dad, who talks right back to him. Their conversations make little sense, and Orion calls him by Sirius’s name the entire time. Regulus is dizzy and wine drunk by the evening, when he finally remembers the task at hand. 

He’s kept Sirius’s scrap of paper. The address. Takes a look at it as he walks through Islington, finding a quiet alley to Apparate from. 138 Fanny Street, Cardiff, Wales. 

—

There’s a wind chill in Cardiff, blustering Regulus about as he paces back and forth in front of Sirius’s house. It nips at his nose, cheeks, neck. He wipes his eyes, and nose, and huffs warmth into his hands. God, he’s too drunk for this. Whenever he walks, the world tumbles a bit under him, and he feels farther away from the ground than he is.

Jesus, why is he  _ here?  _ What the fuck is he doing with himself? For the first time, he explicitly  _ looks  _ at the house. It’s small. Brick. There’s a cheerful Christmas wreath on the front door, and the curtains framing the main window are hand sewn and charming. It’s shocking, to say the least. It makes Regulus hateful and soft hearted and confused all at the same time, about how domestic his brother has become. 

Regulus’s head is thumping and his feet hurt. He’s very tired, and it’s cold. These are among the excuses he tells himself as he steps up to the door, feeling himself sway as he presses the doorbell. There’s a few beats of silence, then lazy footsteps, and then the door opens.  _ Oh,  _ it smells nice inside. And it’s warm. And Sirius is standing there; for some reason a smile on his face but it changes to concern as he says something that Regulus hadn’t been paying attention to.

“Hey,” Regulus forces out. He doesn’t want Sirius to know how hard it’s been these days. He’s not here for comfort, just a distraction. “Can I come in? I’m sorry. I don’t want anyone to find me.”

“Yeah, yeah, for sure, of course.” Sirius takes a step back into the small house and Regulus follows. “I was just making dinner. Oh, you can leave your cloak on the sofa, if you like. How’ve you been? I’m glad you came.”

“Good…” Regulus takes a wary look around the house. It’s very small. The living room has a sofa, a strange loveseat by the window, and a beanbag in it. A small shelf in the corner that has some records scattered about it. There’s a table poking out from the edge of the kitchen, and a little arched window in the wall that separates the living room from the kitchen, with a radio propped on it. There’s music playing. 

It’s so unlike any home that Regulus has ever been to. It’s  _ warm,  _ not just physically, but he feels safe here. His guard is down, which is dangerous and at the same time such a relief. 

“I like your place,” He tells Sirius quietly as he follows him into the kitchen. The small table is covered in papers and the kitchen is a mess, but it would be even more shocking if it  _ wasn’t  _ untidy. The walls in the kitchen are a startling shade of raspberry. “It’s cool.”

“Thanks. Do you want some tea? You look cold.”

“Yeah…. thanks.” 

Regulus jerkily sits down at a rickety chair by the table. Sirius is bustling about the kitchen, so fucking  _ domestic,  _ and Regulus wonders where his partner in crime is.

“Where’s Lupin?”

“Work. He’ll be home in an hour, though. What brought you here?” Sirius sits down across from him and plonks a mug of tea down on the table. Regulus wraps his hands around it to warm him and just breathes it in for a moment.

“I’m tired. Needed a change of scene.”

“I’ll have you know, if a bunch of Death Eaters come storming in here all of a sudden, you’d better put a good word in for me.” Regulus laughs, surprised.

“They won’t. No one knows where I am.” At least, that’s what Regulus thinks. But letting his mind go to paranoia is not advisable. “What’s for dinner?” Sirius smiles again. He looks happy, too happy. He’s wearing a dark jumper, jeans, and fuzzy socks. Jesus, seeing him outside of either Grimmauld or Hogwarts is so disorienting. 

“A casserole. It’s terrible, honestly. I got a cookbook for my birthday because all I make is greasy crap, but it’s so tasty.”

“What kind of casserole?”

“Oho, you want all the specifics! Sausage and egg and cheese.” 

“Sounds good.” Sirius looks closely at him. Regulus remembers the tea and sips some of it. The world continues to sway back and forth, gently, like there’s an earthquake. Regulus glances at a painting on the wall just to check, but it remains still. “I like the art, too.” He gestures at the painting. It’s of a jungle, violently green and alive in all its rich glory. Some of the vines and trees seem to move, and maybe a bird flaps its wings, but at first glance it looked like a regular Muggle painting.

Regulus frowns at it, at the shifting leaves and swirling sky, and realizes that Sirius has been talking to him. He has to physically force himself to tune back in. Sirius is laughing at him.

“You’re high as a kite, aren’t you? What have you taken?”

“Nothing,” Regulus mumbles defensively. He sips his tea. “I had a headache.”

“No headache draught I know makes you get all loopy. Your eyes are the size of dinner plates.”

“Rubbish, tosh. Nonsense. I had a bit to drink.”

“Tell yourself that.” Sirius stands up again and opens the oven, abandoning conversation for a minute, and Regulus closes his eyes and listens to the sounds of the radio wash over him… CLUNK. Regulus jumps in surprise as Sirius drops a heavy plate down in front of him. His brother narrows his eyes at him.

“Why’re you  _ acting  _ like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like weird!”

“I’ve been drinking all day on an empty stomach,” Regulus confesses as he digs into the warm casserole. It’s gooey, cheesy, and the sausage adds just the right kick of savory. Sirius eats quickly but Regulus savors all the flavors. It’s never something they would eat at home. They eat and talk for a long time. Regulus finally falls into some semblance of conversation, forgetting his guilty drunkenness, and just opening up for a conversation. 

Sirius tells him about crashing his magical motorbike and ending up in prison. Regulus laughs and tells him about his crazy night at Evangeline Snyde’s Halloween party, doing lines and shots and all those joints after the fact. Regulus has started spending more time with the older crowd, those a year older than him or more, even though he should be in his seventh year at Hogwarts. Introducing a load of substances in abundance at once to a rather sheltered kid had led Regulus to go off the rails a few times over the summer, but he’s mostly sticking to alcohol these days.

Mostly.

“That was really good,” Regulus tells Sirius after he cleans his plate. “Thank you.” Sirius nods, and looks at Regulus’s plate, then back to his face.

“Would you like more?” For a second, Regulus is confused.  _ More?  _ Another thing that they don’t do in the Black family. Regulus didn’t even take second helpings at Hogwarts. Something his mother said about hedonism being a sin. 

“Yes, thanks.” 

So Regulus has seconds, and Sirius offers to make him a little espresso as dessert. They drink their espresso shots and Sirius asks how their dad is. The answer is bad. Regulus explains how their mother is thinking of either sending him away or killing him, and they both laugh briefly even though nothing about it is funny, and then Sirius says if it comes down to it, he has an extra bedroom. If it comes down to it. Just in case, you know. He looks uncomfortable while talking about it. 

“It would be a shame for Walburga to kill him, after all of this, did she… did she really say that?”

“She absolutely did. Something about him being better off dead if Healers can’t help him.” Sirius shudders. 

“Absolute madwoman. She’s treating you okay?” He gives Regulus a stern look, and he nods.

“She always liked me best.” 

“No more espresso for you if that’s the tone you take with your dinner hosts!”

Lupin comes home after awhile. He looks greyfaced and sort of sickly, so Regulus assumes that a full moon must be coming up. Upon seeing Regulus, he gets this weird look on his face and even though they’re sort of acquaintances, he gets really cold.

“What’s all this?” He asks, dropping his bag onto the floor and toeing off his shoes, sort of glaring at Sirius and Regulus all at once.

“Reg’s here,” Sirius says. “You two know each other, yeah? Hang out behind my back sometimes? Smoking buddies?” Lupin laughs.

“Yeah, good one. I’ll let you two catch up, or whatever.”

“Hey- you can join us! I made a casserole! There’s a plate for you!” Lupin looks from Sirius, to Regulus (to whom he nods at), to the stove, where there is indeed a plate for him. He looks back at Regulus and he frowns.

“No, that’s okay, I’ll eat later.” And he turns around and goes upstairs. Sirius turns back to Regulus with an apology on his face, but Regulus waves him off, already standing up.

“I overstayed my welcome, it’s alright, I’ll head out.”

“Might be best,” Sirius confesses. “But I’m really glad you came. Maybe we can meet somewhere else, another time, if you like.” Regulus has pulled his cloak from the sofa and puts it on, wrapping his scarf around his neck.

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, alright,  _ maybe.  _ Just. Maybe home isn’t the best place?” Sirius scratches his neck almost abashedly and the realization hits Regulus hard. Sirius is afraid that the Death Eaters keep tabs on Regulus. He’s joked about it earlier, but he’s properly afraid. Nervous. 

“Sirius, don’t worry, okay? You’re safe. I’m keeping my promise. You’ll always be safe when it comes to me.” Sirius gets a weird look on his face as Regulus steps over to the door, almost eager to get out. “Thanks a lot for dinner, honest. Happy Christmas, and I’ll see you whenever.”

“Bye, Reg.” When the door closes behind him, Regulus wishes that he could have stayed. The idea of a warm, cozy spare bedroom with a mattress and food downstairs and music playing… it’s just like a dream. Something that will never come true. Sirius is waving out from behind the curtains, and Regulus makes a face at him, laughs, waves again, and then heads off down the street. He looks back twice before the house is out of sight. 


	9. I Felt It Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus leaves for a mission. Moody struggles with keeping the Order constantly vigilant. James holds a yoga session. Lily loses somebody she loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for hella minor character death & grief  
> also, if a thought crosses your mind while reading, you should tell me about it. leave feedback! honestly nothing keeps me more inspired to write than hearing what ppl think of my work so if u have something to say then don't hesitate. ok psa over

_ i couldn’t help it, neither could you _

_ i know you’re tired _

_ i feel it too _

**_december, 1978_ **

**lily**

“A Death Eater! In my kitchen! Eating casserole! Off of  _ my  _ china!” 

“Can’t have him eating off the floor, now can you Moony?” Remus heaves a sigh. James cackles. It’s December, Remus is leaving for a full moon mission tomorrow, and maybe he’s not coming back until Christmas, and they’re… fine with it. Sort of. 

Remus had come storming in all in a huff because he and Sirius had a row about the fact that Sirius had invited Regulus over for dinner. Remus is paranoid about it, and James is treating it as a joke. 

“Remus, he’s his  _ brother.  _ If Sirius trusts him enough to be there, I’m sure he’s fine.” Lily tries to calm him down.

“But Sirius has bad judgement!” Remus shrieks. James shoots Lily a raised-eyebrows look, mock surprise. “And he hasn’t even talked to me about it, and we talk to each other. We  _ communicate. _ ”

“So talk to him tonight, mate,” James says, “No big deal. Just go home and talk to him about it!” Remus is gnawing on his raw fingernails. He looks at James with a frown on his face, his eyebrows drawn.

“I just don’t want our house to be blown up, or on fucking fire, or whatever. I don’t want his Death Eater friends to have shown up. I hate that he’s there. That’s our safe space, that’s our home. I don’t want people like Regulus there. Nobody with the Dark Mark.  _ Fuck _ .”

“You could tell him to meet with him elsewhere,” Lily suggests gently. “Is it the relationship that’s the problem, or the fact that they’re in your house?”

“The house,” Remus says quickly, finally focusing his eyes on her. “It’s okay for him to be closer with Regulus, if he wants. So long as he’s careful. He’s family, that’s fine, but not where it could threaten our lives.”

“There you go.” James spreads his arms wide. “We got to the bottom of it!”

—

“At the bottom of our problems is our inattentiveness to remaining… constantly…  _ VIGILANT!  _ And an utter  _ lack _ of good faith and proper training! Everyone who is NOT a trained Auror, raise your hand!” Lily looks about the room. As it happens, Kingsley Shacklebolt is the only one slowly raising his hand. “ _ Now! _ ” Moody shouts, and a load of hands go up, including Lily’s. Moody stares about the room, glaring at all of them.

“Okay…” He says, “Okay. Gideon Prewett, Bones, Longbottom squared, Robinson, Podmore, and, god help me, Dearborn, I want a meeting with you lot tomorrow, same time, same place. You’re the only ones at least somewhat officially trained with actual tactical battle skills. I want you to gather up groups of those  _ without  _ the proper training, mainly in reference to the young ones, and I want a regimen completed by next week, is that understood?”

“I’m on a mission tomorrow,” Caradoc mumbles.

“Then I will speak to you  _ tonight, _ ” Moody spits at him. The room is quiet under his anger. Ever since the attack in London and their rather lackluster combative efforts, Moody has been bearing down hard upon the Order. They all sort of lost their heads in chaos. It doesn’t help that the brunt of the Order are kids. From what Lily knows, the only  _ actual  _ certified Aurors are Edgar, Alice and Frank, Professor Robinson, and Sturgis Podmore. And Sturgis is more of a spy, anyways.

“Meadowes!” Moody barks. “Fenwick, and Black, I want you with Bones.” They’re the strongest duelers, Lily knows from experience, and wonders if there’s a method to Moody’s assignments. He keeps surveying the crowd. “Evans, Pettigrew, and Vance, you with Alice and Gideon.” Moody goes on assigning them to Aurors to train with before he gives the entire assembled Order a sweeping glance. “All of you can discuss schedules amongst yourselves. What happened in London will  _ never  _ happen again.” His dark eyes bore into Lily and she’s frozen for a moment, but he’s moved on to glare purposefully at James, who doesn’t bother with eye contact and instead raises his eyebrows at Lily from across the room.

Wordless theatrics. 

Once the meeting ends, Lily and James hang about in their own living room, waiting for Moody to stop shouting at poor Caradoc so they can have their own private conversation with him. Once the Auror finishes laying into Caradoc, he seems set on storming out of the room before James, bless his heart, catches him.

“Moody, please, if we could have a word?” Moody makes an impatient growling noise in his throat and turns to face them, his dark brown eyes fixed and hard, glaring. Most people, Lily included, are terrified of him. James explains what he and Lily have been discussing for the past week or so. “Recently, we’ve been feeling as though our privacy is kind of… invaded, you could say, by having people constantly in and out of our house, and staying after meetings and such, because it’s headquarters. And it made sense when my parents lived here, but now it’s just Lily and I, and. And I don’t know if my dad will be moving back. Anytime soon.” His words slow down, and he sounds like they’re being dragged out of him.

“So what we’re really asking is just to move Order headquarters,” Lily finishes. “I know this place is covered in wards and charms and the security is tight, but can’t we perform those wards on a different place?” Moody is looking back and forth between the two of them. Lily is afraid that he might shout at them for being selfish. He’s been so angry since the Ministry attack in London. But when Lily looks at his hard face, it’s completely unreadable.

“Fine,” Moody says shortly. “You should’ve told me earlier if there was a problem. Bones had offered his home when your dad got sick, Potter, so we can set up there for the time being. I’ll send out details tonight for the next meeting.”

“Thank you,” Lily breathes. “For understanding.” Moody shrugs at her, and for once, he actually leaves without sticking around to shout anymore. With Moody gone, no one else has any reason to stay. Remus says goodbye to them, because the full moon is tomorrow and he’ll be with the wolves until Christmas. 

Sirius says goodbye because he’s going home, but he comes over the next night to gossip, chew at his already-bleeding bottom lip, and ask if they have any wine. He stays the night to chat, too. Lily and James always go to bed late and emotionally exhausted, with nothing left to say to each other. 

Lily goes to look after her dad a lot. He’s not doing well. They’re thinking of transferring him to the hospital. She feels so fucking drained, always, like there is nothing left to give. She comes home way late one night, wanting to sleep in her own warm bed with James, and not in her awful cold childhood bedroom. Sirius is terribly drunk when she gets there, and James is too, and they’re dancing to Queen.

Lily watches them in plain shock. They’re jumping from sofa to sofa as though this is the Gryffindor common room rather than the empty house of James’s ailing parents, and they look like kids again, howling along to the stereo and throwing what looks like a wooden spoon back and forth to use as a microphone. 

“I am a sex machine ready to reload, like an atom bomb about to-”

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, EXPLODE!” 

“Buuurning through the sky, yeah, two hundred degrees, that’s why they call me Mister Fahrenheit, I’m travelling at the speed of light! I’m gonna make a supersonic woman of  _ you _ !” James has spotted Lily, his grin widening on sight, and he points at her during the last line. “Hey, supersonic woman, what brings you to these parts?” He jumps off the sofa, stumbling, and walks over to her. 

“Just passing through your galaxy, I guess.” Lily kisses James briefly. He tastes like wine. “Having a dance party?”

“It’s Queen,” James says, laughing. “Of course we’re having a dance party. How’s your dad?”

“Still sick.” Sirius is stumbling over towards them, the beat of music in his hips, chanting ‘don’t stop me now!’ before he comes to a staggering halt, then pirouetting on one foot as though a ballerina. “You two got wine drunk without me? On which wine?”

Sirius laughs. “Madeira!” Lily’s heart sinks.

“The Madeira, seriously? All of it?”

“No, no, we left you some!” James protests.

“Yeah, we did!” Sirius rushes into the kitchen and comes back with a wine glass, filled nearly to the top with amber colored dessert wine. Lily and James sit out in the garden and drink it during dinner on bad days, because it has a 20% alcohol content and gets them very nicely tipsy. It’s not wine to get drunk on. It’s bloody expensive. 

Lily leaves the boys to finish their karaoke as she pours most of the contents of the wine glass back into the otherwise empty bottle. She’s finding a hiding spot for it when James returns to the kitchen, tousling up his hair and bopping a bit to something that isn’t Queen- T. Rex instead. 

“Alright?” He asks, his voice quieter. Lily shrugs. To tell the truth, she wouldn’t mind kicking Sirius out and just going to sleep, but he’s never alright by himself, especially when Remus is off with the wolves. 

“Fine.” Lily sips some of the wine she’d left for herself.

“Is it your dad?”

“No…”

“Is it Sirius?”

“No.”

“The fact that we had the Madeira?”

“Yeah, honestly.” Lily laughs. 

“Do you know what I think would make you feel better?” James asks, moving closer. His face is flushed with drink, dark eyes glittering behind his big glasses. 

“What’s that?”

“Drinking more Madeira.”

—

“Okay, and this next one, this is. Bharadvaja’s Twist, okay? So sit with your legs crossed, but like, down on your knees.”

“Down? What? Haha?”

“Down, yeah, see, how Lily’s doing it! And sit like that, and grab. Hahaha, grab one knee and then twist it.”

_ CRACK _

“Sirius, your joints are abysmal! When’s the last time you even stretched?”

“My joints are crying right now because you’re being so fucking rude to them.”

“Lily, looking good, Sirius, looking shit-”

_ CRACK _

“Oiiiii, that hurts! Blimey, that fucking hurts!” 

“Okay, Sirius is now demonstrating Corpse pose for us- it’s a real thing! Don’t give me that look, it’s totally a real thing! It’s one of the most difficult ones-!”

—

Lily remembers odd things about the next day. Waking up hungover on the sofa with no pants on, just a t-shirt and her knickers, and how James thought the ringing telephone was their alarm, how it reminded Lily that she had work today. Sirius asleep in an armchair and how Lily had looked at him there, innocent in how he had casually thrown a wrench in her week, month, year…

Nothing about the phone call. Or screaming at James in the predawn light of the kitchen, screaming until Sirius woke up.  _ Drinking my good wine on a weeknight, having a fucking dance party in the living room on a weeknight, we’re not kids, he’s going to die, I have work, what the fuck were we thinking? What the fuck were we thinking? _

She remembers how James asked how he could help. And she remembers telling him to go fuck himself-  _ Get Sirius out of here and tell him not to show his face unless he’s sober, don’t touch my Madeira again, put the fucking living room back in order and just- and just- and just-  _

Like a broken record. Lily’s brain was wordless all the way to the hospital. Even as Petunia shouted at her and asked her what the point of her being a freak was if she wouldn’t do anything with her ‘magical powers’ and Lily had not replied. Save him, Petunia said, wave your stupid wand and save his life. And even as her father had flatlined, she had found nothing to say.

Her mother, sobbing. Her sister, angry. Lily, hungover. She remembers the headache pressing behind her eyes and the weak nausea bubbling in her stomach. Ouch, ouch. Even the thought of crying had made things worse; Lily didn’t need a migraine. She just kept sitting there and everyone kept crying and her dad was obscenely, awfully dead, white faced and cold limbed and every moment he just got  _ more  _ dead; disbelief like nothing else and Lily walked out of the hospital room, needing to talk to someone who understood.

Remus, said her mind. Call up Remus. Remus is a half blood, Remus has a telephone in his house, enough magic in his heart to Apparate here in an instant, and a dead mother. Just call Remus. He will understand.

She dialed up his number and called him three times until she remembered that he was on a mission with the werewolves. Lily remembers pressing her forehead against the telephone and the weight of tears in her eyes and chest, so heavy and crushing that for a moment she thought she might collapse. The pain had been striking. Her dad, in that hospital bed, deader and deader and deader, farther gone by the minute.

Lily remembers calling Mary next.

The next few hours blurred. Hospital rooms and everyone crying but her. Lily had enough when Petunia asked her why she wasn’t even  _ sad,  _ and had left. And now she’s sitting by the Thames, listening to a busker play an electric guitar. Mary’s been orchestrating fights between pigeons as she only throws crumbs to certain ones, and the two of them are taking some strange interest in watching them battle.

“I’ve always just wanted to kick a bird,” Mary confesses almost absently. “They’re at the perfect height. Just round little… fuckers. Waddling around like they own the place. I just want to  _ punt  _ one, you know?”

“You can try.”

“Mmm.” The thing about Mary is, which Lily loves her for, she does rather well to maintain stationary. James doesn’t like to sit still, Marlene and Dorcas either. Athletes. Mary’s good at sitting in one space for a while. They’ve been on this bench for hours. Mary bought Lily a sandwich and a cola and they sat down and then they stayed seated. James would have stood up and kicked a pigeon all the way to fucking France. Mary just absently waves her foot at one, who scrambles away from her.

“I’m not even that sad. He was just wasting away. Petunia asked me why I wasn’t crying. You want to know the truth?”

“Yeah?”

“I had a hangover, and if I cried, my headache would be even worse.” Mary shakes her head. Lily sighs. “Way irresponsible. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah, Lily, I’ll share that anecdote at his funeral.”

“Ugh, don’t even remind me. Ughhh, fucking funerals…” Lily puts her head in her hands. “Fuck.” Her voice is small.

“It’s okay to cry, if you want to let it out, you know.” 

“I’m not. Even if I did. There’s a million things that I’m more angry about than…”  _ Than my dad dying four hours ago.  _ It’s awful. It’s a terrible thing to think.

“What are you angry about?”

“Sirius.” Mary snorts. Lily removes her hands from her eyes, little pinpricks of light flashing before her eyes, and Mary rolls her hand in a  _ go on  _ gesture. “He’s been at my house, like, almost every night this week because he doesn’t know what to do with himself when Remus isn’t around. Him and James drank all of my favorite Madeira last night and got  _ plastered  _ and I had just come back from being with.” Her throat sticks for a moment. “My dad, looking after him, and he was  _ alright  _ last night, and now he’s fucking. Dead, but anyways, I got home and Sirius and James were all drunk and I think we did yoga? And danced around with half our clothes on and we’d never have done it without Sirius there, because everything’s all fun fun fun for him, all the time, and it’s fucking killing me at this point.”

“I’ll have a chat with him,” Mary says rather importantly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, thanks, Mary.”

“Yeah, of course.” Lily looks out at cold, dark London. Sunset on a blue winter’s day. The lights of this city, capital, home to most, turn orange against the blueish backdrop of everything else. Mary’s home. The Thames is a shade of navy, carrying glimmers of peachy colored light down with it, along and away to somewhere else… 

Lily sighs, a wistful sound in her throat. Despite her stoicism and lack of tears, her head still hurts. She wants to lie down and put on her favorite music. Let it all go away for a while… Lily thinks of the acid, her and Mary at Knebworth Fair, and how the whole day seemed like a faraway fairytale; all flashing colors, swirling lines, and love and joy and euphoria. Oh, if only Remus were around…

Lily buries her face in her arms.

“It’s getting cold,” Mary tells her unnecessarily. “Do you want to come back to mine?” Lily is so glad that Mary hadn’t asked her to go home. Now that James’s dad has taken ill and they’ve temporarily moved headquarters, their house in Godric’s Hollow seems so huge and empty, like it could just swallow her up.

“Can I stay the night?”

“Only if you call James and let him know, first.” Mary stands up, stretching enough to crack her back, and Lily is reminded with almost sickening clarity of Sirius doing much the same in her house, on her living room floor, the previous night. They walk all the way back to Mary’s flat with linked arms. It takes nearly an hour, but Lily’s legs ache in a good way as they finish climbing the stairs to her fifth floor apartment. Mary’s flat always smells like good food, and her parents and sister are friendly, though no one bothers them too much as they lock themselves in Mary’s little bedroom.

She’d had a row with her dad earlier in the summer about it. He’d been using it as an office, and there’s still some of his files stacked by the door. Mary sits down on her bed and Lily sits next to her, back against the wall, as Mary lights some candles for ambiance and flicks on the radio.

“Hey, can you find a dial-in station? I want a song.”

“Oh yeah? Which one?” Mary raises her eyebrows and snatches the rotary phone on her nightstand to drop in her lap. It’s light blue, more exciting than Lily’s tan one from home. 

“Love Of My Life, the Queen one.”

“Gotcha.” Mary waits until the current song ends to dial into the station and requests the song. When it starts playing, Lily flops onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. The song has always been bittersweet to Lily. Something about the piano. A Night At The Opera is Lily’s favorite album by Queen, and it reminds her so strongly of the summer before sixth year. She listens as the song picks up, electric guitars and drums. And then the end.

_ Back, hurry back _

_ Please bring it back home to me _

_ Because you don’t know  _

_ What it means to me _

“Hey, are you crying?”

“Yeah…”

“Good, I knew Queen would do it. You’re gonna be okay, you know?”

“Somehow, yeah.”

“Maybe you and James should get a new place.” The mattress gives as Mary flops back onto it too, lying toe-to-tail with Lily, her socked feet next to Lily’s face. Like kids. Sometimes it feels like Lily’s known Mary her whole life. They look up at the same ceiling and listen to the radio move on without their input. They’re playing Bonnie Tyler.

“I think you’re right. His house, it’s just… it’s too big. All empty, like. It feels wrong. I doubt he wants to sell it, though.” Lily wipes the remaining tears away. “Can we. Just talk about something else?”

“Do you want me to call in another song?”

“No, just...” Mary doesn’t reply, just lets that silence sit. It’s heavy. But it doesn’t hurt like it could. They lie there all night long. 


	10. Home (Naive Melody)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius regains possession of his motorbike, just in time for Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these lyrics are from this must be the place (naive melody) by talking heads which is one of my favorite songs ever / a song that reminds me so much of wolfstar that sometimes i just cry listening to it. it came out in 1983 so canonically, wolfstar never got to listen to it together but in MY canon they definitely did. 
> 
> anyways it's just genuinely the best love song ever written. watch the stop making sense performance [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HldHtBxNK6k&ab_channel=stutlee) if you want to be blown away

_ of all those kinds of people, you got a face with a view _

_ i’m just an animal looking for a home and _

_ share the same space for a minute or two _

_ and you love me ‘til my heart stops _

_ love me ‘til i’m dead _

**sirius**

On top of a war, deaths, family drama, and his boyfriend living with a pack of werewolves in a frozen forest, Sirius Black is most overwhelmed by the confusing layout of Muggle traffic court. 

Confused at first, and then overjoyed, when someone explains to him that the wreckage of his motorbike is in an impound lot in western Cardiff. He pays a fat fine of Muggle pounds in court for all of the broken rules and finds it rather charming that Muggles can buy themselves out of illegal situations. Maybe he should crash his motorbike more often. 

He finds Ziggy behind a huge fence at the impound lot, with some grimy bloke telling him he has to pay even more money to get her out. It’s snowing lightly. Sirius pays up. They have to tow her home, too. The grimy bloke’s name is Trevor and he gives Sirius a ridiculous lecture on motorcycle safety as they tow his trashed bike across Cardiff and back to Cathays. Sirius’s street is so narrow that the tow truck takes up the whole street, bumping up against parked cars that are too wide for their own good.

Trevor leaves Ziggy outside Sirius’s house, shredded tyres leaning against the narrow sidewalk. The day is dark grey, late December. The door to the house opens and Remus stands there in spilling orange light like a tall shadow, his head tilted, watching Sirius thank Trevor, and the tow truck slowly driving away down the street. 

Remus is tired. Sirius can tell it as soon as he gets inside. They share a long hug, all wrapped up in each others’ warmth, but Remus has to sit down and seems breathless, ill, and weak. He covers his eyes with his arms, and asks Sirius to turn the lights off. They cuddle up on the sofa together. It’s dark, but warm. Remus falls asleep after a while. 

Sirius leaves him there, and brings a lantern into the kitchen for light. Benjy had come by and fixed them. Sirius cooks in the soft mood lighting from the levitating lantern, not wanting to wake Remus with any bright lights that would worsen his headache, and not playing any music. It’s strange. 

Sirius has been drinking a lot this month, so he hasn’t been eating much. It’s become apparent that he’s lost some weight as autumn froze into winter. Short days, long nights, and with an empty house, Sirius gets bored and sad. He’s not a winter creature. He can cook, though. Been figuring it out over these past few months. Remus looks skinny but not hungry, two things that go hand in hand, so Sirius just makes soup and heats a half eaten loaf of bread in the oven. 

He wakes Remus later in the evening, around eight. Starts a fire in the hearth and Remus feels better enough to go eat at the table with the lights on. Remus eats with little enthusiasm, like just going through the motions.

“I heard about Lily’s dad,” Remus says quietly. “It’s really awful. I feel terrible.”

“Did you go see her?” Remus shakes his head.

“No, I only called. She says she’d rather be alone right now, and Mary said that she goes over a lot, so it’s fine. I just feel like I’m not doing enough, you know?” Sirius knows quite well, having been henceforth banned from James’s house until given permission to return. Not that Remus needs to know.

“When did you get back?”

“I left the pack this morning, went to Dumbledore, got home, went get my prescription filled, and then came back here. Were you at court? How was it?”

“Easier than expected. A lot like the Wizenagamot, not that I’d know.” Remus laughs briefly. “Now I’ve gotta fix Ziggy up  _ again.  _ What’s a prescription?”

“Medication,” Remus tells him tiredly. “Doctors have to prescribe it for you. I, erm. Ran out, over the mission. But it’s okay now. Nothing to worry about, I’ve just got to get readjusted.” 

“If you say so.” Sirius cleans up while he fills Remus in on the rest of what happened while he was gone. Sirius has always been left to fill their spaces. Sober or drunk, he can talk and talk, and Remus will always reply to him sooner or later with something rather intelligent. At least they have never ignored each other, and at least they are never quiet, not in that lonely way that echoes and grows. Sirius had been so lonely when Remus was gone. 

It’s okay when the missions are a few days. Then it’s a break of sorts. But weeks without someone to love, it wears down, and not even the sound of music could pick Sirius up because all he thought about was what Remus would think of a song, how his voice would sound singing along, how he’d move his narrow hips to the beat, how he smiles, how he loses himself in it. It’s dramatic to say that drinking keeps Sirius company, but it’s true, and it does. Something about that ghost warmth.

They go to bed early because Remus still isn’t feeling quite right. Sirius doesn’t stay up or leave the lights on or tattoo himself because he wants Remus to sleep well. Except after falling asleep, Sirius is rudely awoken in the darkness by Remus shaking him. The air is cold but they’re warm under the blankets.

“What’s going on?” Sirius asks blearily. “Is it, is it a mission, is it an emergency?”

“No, no. I think maybe we should go to the hospital.” Sirius looks at Remus in the darkness, who is wheezing and clutching weakly at his chest. 

“The hospital  _ is  _ an emergency, love, what’s going on? Do you need an ambulance?”

“I just can’t. I just  _ can’t _ . I can’t breathe.”

—

They sleep all through the next day, until Sirius has to wake Remus up to take his medication. Remus takes his pills and goes back to bed. A day wasted. Sirius makes dinner in the afternoon, because he’s got battle training with Edgar in the evening, and he leaves it under a stasis charm for Remus, including a sappy note about how he loves him.

They haven’t really discussed the hospital, mostly because Remus has been asleep. It’s not the first nor the last time that Remus will end up in the emergency room, but the doctors said it was his lungs again and that he needs rest, and that his medications are necessary for treating his disorder. Remus’s Muggle illness has a complicated name that Sirius can’t remember, something to do with a lack of blood flow. It speaks for Remus’s intense fatigue, the dizziness and headaches, and the nausea. His inflamed lungs aren’t related to the disorder, he’s just poorly and smokes too much. 

Sirius spends his night dueling in the dark with Benjy, Dorcas, and Edgar. He returns home all magicked out, tired and sore. He’s spent three days sober and it’s beginning to wear on him. But Remus is there, despite the late night, and the cold and rain. 

“Hey!” Remus says when Sirius gets home, hopping to his feet. “Thanks for dinner! How was your mission?”

“Not a mission, just training.” Sirius kisses him. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better, now. Lots. I just needed the meds and the rest, I guess. What training?”

“The stuff with Edgar, you know, the little groups Moody made for us.” Sirius kicks off his boots and hangs his leather jacket by the door, next to Remus’s big green army jacket. Remus is just standing and watching him. Sirius turns to look at him, and he scratches his head, a little bashfully.

“Have you already eaten?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What’s up?” Remus looks back up at him.

“Soo, I won’t be here tomorrow night.” Sirius blinks. “Because my family is getting together. Like, Selwyn and the whole brigade. Christmas dinner, like. I think I should go.”

“Oh.”

Remus does not invite him to come. 

Instead, he says that Marlene had invited them to go to the Christmas market in Edinburgh tonight and he’d like to go, if Sirius is up for it.

“You’ve been waiting for me to get back to go to a Christmas market?” Sirius asks, and Remus’s face falls. “Not that I don’t want to go, I  _ do  _ want to go, of course I want to go! It’s just late!”

“Are you tired?”

“No, no! This just isn’t your style! I love impulsive decisions to go fun places! Hell yeah, Moony!” Sirius pulls his boots back on, shrugs back on his jacket, and looks expectantly at Remus, who is still shoeless and wearing that lumpy jumper. “What’s our means of travel?”

They end up using the Floo. Neither of them have been to Marlene’s house before, and step out of the fireplace into a large living room, where Marlene and Dorcas are sitting in chairs opposite each other and staring right at the fireplace, as though they had planned to make Remus and Sirius’s entrance as creepy as possible. 

It doesn’t last long. Marlene grabs an embarrassed looking Remus and drags him into the kitchen to meet her family.

“Young love,” Dorcas muses amusedly. “Just like old times.”

“I can’t believe they ever dated…” Sirius watches Marlene, almost as tall as Remus, standing next to him while talking to her mother. Sirius has seen Mrs. McKinnon a few times at Order meetings with the rest of Marlene’s family, but never met her. “Well, actually, I can.”

“They’re sort of perfect for each other.” Dorcas agrees. Marlene has brought her mum and a brother into the living room.

“Mum, Frazer, this is my friend Sirius.” She gestures at him. “He’s Remus’s roommate.” Frazer just tells him hello and all of them to have fun before heading upstairs, apparently having better things to do, but Mrs. McKinnon has the audacity to pinch Sirius’s cheeks (they’re not  _ that  _ chubby) and gives him a tin of Christmas cookies that Marlene says they can take home later, since they’ll be Flooing back. Meeting the parents. It’s strange. 

They all bundle up and hit the streets of Edinburgh. It’s a long walk to downtown, but everything is strung up with gold and glittering Christmas lights. Marlene and Dorcas link arms while Remus and Sirius hold gloved hands that they drop whenever they walk by a crowd of people.

“I think your brother’s queer, Marlene,” Remus tells her.

“I thought so too!” Dorcas looks excited. “I’ve been telling her that!”

“Who, the one we just met?” Sirius asks.

“Frazer isn’t  _ queer,  _ he’s just a herbologist.” Dorcas and Remus burst out laughing. 

“You could write that into a joke, a queer herbologist walks into a bar…” Marlene shoves Dorcas, a difficult thing to do when their arms are linked, and Dorcas shoves her back, the two of them bouncing about the sidewalk like they’re drunk.

“What even makes you think that?”

“Just McKinnon blood,” Dorcas mumbles.

“It’s his hair and his facial expressions,” Remus adds.

“The way he climbed those stairs…” 

“Sirius!” 

When they arrive at the city centre, Sirius’s breath is taken by the sight of the sprawling Christmas market. There’s what looks like hundreds of stalls lining the streets, nestled in between the Scott Monument and across from towering department stores, covered in the same Christmas lights that glow from all over. There’s music playing, kids running about, and wonderful smells coming from all around. They walk by a carousel with brightly painted horses that Sirius stops to marvel at for a long while, until Remus has to pull him along. He’d never seen anything like it before in his life.

It’s just wonderful. 

Sirius and Dorcas split off together while Remus and Marlene do the same; all four of them want to buy some last minute gifts that they don’t want their significant others seeing. 

Sirius buys a bag of assorted chocolate bonbons for Remus, and some coasters shaped like flying carpets (“they’re just normal carpets, Sirius, these are Muggles,” Dorcas reminds him), and some nice smelling candles that a very friendly saleswoman insists he purchase. There’s lots and lots of food all around, and Sirius’s mouth waters every time they walk by a stall. So Sirius gets a bratwurst and also a crepe, and wraps the sausage in the crepe and eats it while Dorcas tells him he’s mad. 

They walk by stall after stall of alcohol vendors. So many that Sirius gets physically itchy. The food had been a nice distraction, and the shopping bags in his arms, but he wants more than food and retail. He wants a  _ buzz.  _ They walk by another little bar, another stall selling Christmas beers and wines, literally  _ baubles  _ filled with gin and mead.

“Do you want some mulled wine, something warm?” Dorcas asks him. 

“Erm…” Sirius looks at the stall that they’ve stopped in front of. His mouth waters as he looks over the colored bottles of mead, beer, and wine. “I’m supposed to be sober.” Dorcas frowns at him incredulously. 

“Sober? On Christmas? Under whose orders? Remus’s?” Sirius just shrugs and nods at the same time.

“After what happened on my birthday…”

“You’ve been sober for nearly two  _ months? _ ” Her brown eyes burn into him. Sirius shrugs. “Okay, so you haven’t. You just haven’t gone on a drunken-jailbird-bender for nearly two months. I’m buying you wine.” And then she does. She also buys a chocolate waffle that they share on a bench overlooking St. Andrew Square, where an ice skating rink has been orchestrated for the winter. 

Marlene and Remus are down there. They’re both mostly watching Marlene, who skates like she’s been doing it all her life. Her hair is in those twin plaits she favors, flying behind her back, reminding Sirius of his short lived Quidditch career. Remus has a plastic penguin to hold onto because his balance is shit and Sirius can see him laughing from all the way up here, holding onto the stupid penguin while Marlene does circles around him.

Dorcas and Sirius sigh in lovesick unison. 

“Have the rest,” She says, dropping the waffle box into Sirius’s lap. “It’s too rich for me.” Sirius obliges, never one to turn down food. “What’s your plans for Christmas?”

“Got none. Remus is going to his family’s for Christmas dinner and I think I missed the invite.”

“Mind if  _ I _ invite myself over?”

Sirius looks at Dorcas, who is still staring down at the ice rink, all eyes for Marlene. Dorcas is wearing a knit hat with a bauble on top, and her nose is red with the cold. 

“Sure, go on. We can get drunk.” Dorcas snorts.

“What’s that about, anyways, you not drinking? Does Remus _ think _ you’ve been sober?”

“I guess so… it’s not like he knew what I did while he was gone. And it’s not like I’m going to tell him. We just had a big row after I got out of jail, and he said I always drink in excess and do stupid things when I’m drunk, which. Might have been true. But I just had a single cup of wine and I’m totally fine.”

“Then have a conversation with Remus, because it’s stupid that you’re guilty about drinking when it’s no big deal.”

“Okay.”

“Alright.” Sirius polishes off the last bite of the waffle and sighs breathlessly. He’d eaten too much. Story of his life. “You know, Marlene’s family doesn’t know that we’re together even though they’ve been letting me live there for months?” Sirius frowns. He thought the whole reason that Dorcas lived with Marlene was because they were out to Marlene’s family. “And Marlene refuses to tell them?”

“Then why are you living there?”

“My family said if I was fighting, I wasn’t allowed to live under their roof.”

“Damn. Jesus.” It hits Sirius harder than expected. Maybe it’s the bit of alcohol in his blood, the shame of a full stomach, the cold. “Fuck, Dorcas, I had no idea. I’m sorry. I know how it feels.” 

Dorcas says, “I’m sure,” with a voice that says she doesn’t want to talk about it. 

“Do you still talk to them?”

“We write, yeah. Don’t often call. But I talk to my little sister a lot.” Sirius thinks about Regulus. Wonders how he’s spending Christmas. 

“You know, if you ever want to talk-”

“There’s nothing to talk about, mate.” Dorcas’s voice is a bit tense now. “It’s fine, it’s whatever. I feel bad enough about it as it is. I wish I had them in my life. My selfish decision of going to fight.”

“It’s probably the most unselfish thing you could do,” Sirius explains, seeing Dorcas look up at him with something like surprise on her face, “And I’m just saying, we’ve got a spare bedroom if you get tired of living with the McKinnons. It hurts to hide it.”

“You can say that again.” Dorcas sighs, wistful. She looks back down at the ice rink. Remus has abandoned his penguin and now is hanging off of Marlene, clinging onto her arm as they skate a slow circle around the perimeter. “If she doesn’t come out to them before, say, Valentine’s Day, then maybe I’ll take you up.”

“Ooh, an ultimatum.” 

“Exactly.” Dorcas turns to him, eyes sparkling. “But I’m still happy now, you know? Do you want to transfigure some skates onto our boots so we don’t have to pay for their ice skates?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

—

Dorcas does come over on Christmas Eve, and they do get drunk.

Sirius makes a whole pot of eggnog, sharp with bourbon and thick with cream. While everyone is with families somewhere, exchanging gifts and loving each other, Sirius and Dorcas are getting pissed and practicing legilimency on each other because Edgar had suggested they do it. 

After a while, mind reading gets boring. Sirius is too good at occlumency and Dorcas not good enough at legilimency, so both of them give up after a while. Dorcas turns on the radio, makes them drink the rest of the eggnog, and then they dance.

To Patti Smith, because Dorcas gets what she wants. They jump around the living room to ‘Because the Night’. Dorcas dances well. She sings along dramatically, and pulls Sirius towards her during the chorus, he’s slurring along and laughing as Dorcas spins him about.

“Because the night belongs to lovers, because the night belongs to LUST! Because the night belongs to lovers, because the night belongs to US!” Dorcas bangs her head, her wild hair crazy around her shoulders, and then she’s sort of  _ touching  _ Sirius, one hand on the curve of his waist and the other draped loosely about his shoulder. 

The song ends. Sirius takes a few steps away from Dorcas, turns off the radio, and sits down on the sofa. Things have gone kind of swirly. Dorcas sits down next to him and tells him that she’s never had sex with a guy before.

“I’ve never done it with a girl either,” Sirius tells her. “I’m really gay. I can’t even imagine it. Truly no desire. What’s the fun?”

“Girls are so soft, Sirius.” Dorcas sounds very important about it. “With tits, and hips, and thighs.”

“Marlene’s quite skinny.”

“And you’re quite fat.” They look at the hearth. Sirius starts laughing, and Dorcas joins in. 

“So the thing you like most about girls is that they’re soft, and you get a thin girlfriend?’

“She’s  _ still  _ soft, she’s perfect. Can’t imagine being with someone like  _ Remus.  _ If you were still thin, the two of you would start a fire trying to shag, just two sticks rubbing against each other-!” Sirius hits her on the arm, laughing loudly, and Dorcas just shakes her head. “I don’t think he’s hot.”

“Well, _ I _ don’t think Marlene’s hot.”

“Who’s the hottest friend you have?” Sirius looks at her. Her eyes are sparkling with interest. Fuck it, they’re drunk, whatever.

“Benjy. We had a thing, back in fourth year, and a bit of fifth.”

“ _ Really? _ ”

“Oh, yeah. The whole snogging in broom cupboards thing. Lots of secrecy. He’s quite fit, still. He’s definitely hot. James is hot, too. But he’s more like family, so that’s weird. What about you, who’s your hottest?”

“I think you’re hot, Sirius.” Dorcas explains. “And I’ve always thought Mary was hot.”

“Make a move!”

“Nooo, I’m taken, I’m taken.” Dorcas folds her arms across her chest and looks at Sirius again. “You don’t want to have a quick shag, just as friends, find out what it’s like?”

“I mean no offense whatsoever, but I won’t be able to get it up. I’m honestly gay.” Dorcas shrugs. 

“Suit yourself.” 

—

Dorcas leaves around midnight after convincing Sirius to buy a television before the month of January is out. Sirius is still pretty toasted by the time he hears voices outside, and comes to realize that he’d promised Remus that he’d stay sober and now he’s at home, drunk, and it’s Christmas. Sirius scrambles upstairs to the bathroom while the front door opens and loud voices come through. Remus and Caradoc. 

Sirius swishes some mouthwash around and splashes water on his face to try to make his cheeks less ruddy. “I’m sober,” He tells his reflection. “I’m stone cold sober. So sober it hurts. Painfully sober. Studiously sober. I’m Sirius Black and I’m sober.”

Sirius goes downstairs and proceeds to have a breakdown over the Christmas tree in his living room.

Remus and Caradoc are hauling it into the corner, spreading pine needles literally everywhere. Sirius stands at the bottom of the stairs and gets a bit caught up in watching Remus bent over like that, arms supporting the trunk of the tree, all manly and strong and hot, and then reminds himself that he’s  _ sober  _ and to act  _ normal  _ and then he gauges that it’s a big fucking tree and it’s in his house.

Sirius has never had a Christmas tree. Not ever in his life, save for James’s. But this is his own tree. Yes, it’s the day before Christmas but fuck, Sirius hadn’t even  _ thought  _ about getting one. He makes a weak noise in his throat and both Caradoc and Remus look over at him. 

Remus beams at him, stretching his arms widely as he stands up. “Look, Sirius, we got a Christmas tree!” 

“I see,” Sirius says quietly, “Yeah, you did.”

Caradoc gestures at it too, apparently proud of himself. “We passed by this lot, selling them for cheap. Just the shitty ones left, all the weird shaped ones that nobody wanted earlier, but they were properly cheap and so we just picked this one up.”

“It’s perfect.” Sirius covers his mouth with his hands. Caradoc glances at Remus, who is frowning at Sirius, who is getting teary eyed over a Christmas tree. “I’ve just.” He says. “I’ve just never had one before.” 

“Never had a Christmas tree?” Caradoc asks him. “Bloody hell, your family really are a bunch of loonies.”

“Oh, yes.” Sirius glides down the rest of the stairs and into Remus’s arms, one of those big heavy hugs that he gives which squeeze the air out of people, and Remus laughs gently as he hugs Sirius back. 

“Do you have any ornaments?” Caradoc asks them. “Or else we can just use magic.”

“We’ll manage,” Remus mumbles over Sirius’s shoulder. He pats his back gently, and Sirius realizes that he’s being drunkenly affectionate and needs to step back. He breaks away from Remus, red faced and sort of overwhelmed. Caradoc leaves soon after, wishing them a happy Christmas, and swirls away through the fireplace while Remus looks back at Sirius, who is swaying on his feet, staring up at the tree.

“Want to decorate it?” Remus asks.

They stay up all night, listening to music and hanging out by the Christmas tree as though there’s enough spirited energy in it that they could soak it all up. They exchange gifts- a bunch of expensive chocolate from the market in Edinburgh and a big briefcase with PROFESSOR R.J. LUPIN written on the side in silver letters. 

Remus touches it the way he might touch Sirius in bed, with adoring hands and wide eyes.

“This must have been so expensive!”

“It’s high quality, it’ll last you years. I know you haven’t gotten your PhD yet, but don’t think I’ve forgotten, Moony. That’ll come in handy one day.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. Oh, hell.” Remus has that guilty expression on his face that Sirius gets to see every December, and in perfect Remus Lupin fashion, he speaks the words that Sirius could have literally predicted. “My gift is  _ so _ shit.”

“Hey, I won’t complain about getting another Stooges shirt!” Sirius is never going to fit back into the one that Remus bought him so many years ago, which is a shame, because he very much likes it. It’s still in his closet, for old times’ sake. 

“It’s not a Stooges shirt. Ugh.” Remus hands him a wrapped rectangle and looks ashamed of himself as Sirius opens it up. There’s cassette tapes in there. Not from any band he’s ever heard, though. They’re mixtapes. Sirius feels his heart squish all strange in his chest as he peers at the tapes.

_ R & S - 76 _

_ R & S - SUMMER 77 _

_ R & S - 78 _

_ FAVE PUNK FOR PADFOOT _

_ NOSTALGIA _

“Fuck, Moony, how long did it take you to make these?” Sirius knows the arduous process of making mixtapes; setting up a record at the right volume, dropping the needle at the perfect starting point of a song, recording the tape at the right time, stopping everything at the right time. Without a record, either finding another cassette player to record the music from, recording off of the radio, or calling up the radio to play a song just for you.

“I made them at the record store, most of the time,” Remus says, which explains a lot, “But I enjoyed it. I’m sentimental, I dunno. Do you like them?”

“Yes, oh my god! I love them! Let’s listen!” Remus and Sirius drift off to sleep on the sofa together, very early on a dark Christmas morning, letting familiar music lull them as they rest.


	11. Halo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marlene gets drunk on New Years and makes a big decision. Everything is okay until a mission goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics are from another love song that gets me emo.. this one is 'halo' by basement <3

_ you say hello and you blind me as you go _

_ you’re sweet, so sweet _

_ and your halo shines on me _

**_january, 1979_ **

**marlene**

On New Years Eve, Marlene McKinnon got drunk, as many other Scottish girls do. Dorcas dragged her along to Sirius’s house, which was full of many strange people that Marlene had never seen before, a good lot of them Muggles. There were wards up so people couldn’t just Apparate in, but Caradoc came in halfway through the night through the fireplace, his face lit up green as he stepped out, and one of the punk girls with fanned hair and crazy eyeliner had screamed out loud, something about Father Christmas (who?) and everyone had laughed and laughed. 

For the record, Marlene usually doesn’t party this hard. Remus hadn’t been there, and he’s usually the one who keeps her grounded, because he always stops drinking after a few and mostly he’ll sit out on the back stoop and smoke weed until he can’t feel his limbs anymore. Marlene likes that. But Remus had been with the wolves, Dorcas had been pushy, and Sirius had essentially turned the kitchen into a bar.

Now, we find Marlene stumbling down a sidewalk in an Edinburgh suburb with her arm around her girlfriend. Dorcas can either hold her liquor better or had less to drink, or maybe that strange white stuff she snorted had done something to sober her up. Both of them are sweaty and hot and laughing. 

Some dark figures across the street are watching them. Ordinarily, Marlene would have touched her wand and felt the magic there, glancing at them to make sure that they were safe, but she’s a little out of her depth, and she shouts at them.

“Happy New Year!” One of them laughs. Dorcas pulls her along.

“Happy New Year to you too!” One of them shouts back. 

“It’s gonna be a good one,” Marlene tells Dorcas. She’s a very good guide, walking competently down the sidewalk. “1979, just the sound of it, you know. Nineteen seventy niiine.”

“Glad you know what year it is, Marls.”

“I  _ always  _ know what year it is. I’m a genius. I’m so smart.”

“Yes, you are. Look, here’s home!” Marlene’s been dragging a bit, hair falling in her face, eyes down on the sidewalk. She thinks, maybe she’ll make herself throw up once she gets home. Just so the hangover won’t be bad tomorrow. So she won’t have to throw up later. Lights on, silhouettes of a crowd inside. “Looks like your family’s still up…”

“‘Course they are, they like to party just like the rest of us do. Good to party.” Marlene straightens up. Dorcas looks so fucking  _ hot,  _ like, hotter than usual. She’s not dressed for the weather. She never is. Her top is silk, with a sharp and low neckline, and she wears a leopard print blazer over it. Dark trousers. Marlene kisses her and it’s like a live wire. Dorcas has good, good lips, kissing lips, soft and plump and hot and wet and she kisses back. It’s addictive. Better than a drink. Better than anything.

Marlene runs a hand through Dorcas’s hair, just to feel it. So thick and strong and wild. Marlene’s gotten sloppy, too much tongue, accidentally snogging Dorcas’s cheek, and Dorcas pulls back with one hand on Marlene’s face, smoothing her thumb over a cheekbone. January 1st, 1979, and there’s Dorcas Meadowes. Tan brown skin, wild dark hair, and brown eyes turned something else in the moonlight.

Marlene wishes that Remus wasn’t always away. Marlene wishes that things were different than they are.

“I’m gonna come out,” She tells Dorcas, whose facial expression goes unreadable, “I’m gonna do it right now. Right now. Because I love you and it’s not going away. Not that I thought it would. Just that maybe I’d end up liking blokes, in the end, because I liked Remus a lot but turns out he’s just a best friend. Do you know? You know. It must be confusing being bisexual. But it’s hard to be a lesbian. But I am. I’m gonna go tell them.”

Maybe Dorcas should have stopped her. 

Maybe.

Marlene skips down the front walk, throws open the door, and strides into the living room where her parents are. And not just her parents, but the Prewetts and the Bones’ and Marlene’s older brothers and sister, and they all look at her as she rushes in and says, more like shouts-

“Happy New Year, everybody, and big news: I’m  _ gay _ ! I’m queer! Me and Dorcas are dating, and I’m madly in love with her!” There is a silence, because of course there is. Dorcas is standing by the front door in her exceptionally sexy outfit, toeing the door shut behind her, hands in the pockets of her trousers; there’s no apprehension at all clouding her features because Dorcas is nothing but sure of herself and confident. She meets Marlene’s eyes straight on.

Marlene turns back to look at the crowd. There’s laughter bubbling in her chest; Gideon and Fabian’s  _ parents  _ are sitting there, staring at her. And there are her own parents. And her sister, Katie, looking mortified. And Oliver, and Frazer, who is red faced and looks like he’s heard a very funny joke. 

It’s Frazer who breaks the silence by lifting the half empty glass in his hand. “What a wonderful announcement, alright! A toast to Marlene and Dorcas!” And like nothing had ever happened, the assorted company lifts their drinks in a toast, toasting to  _ Marlene,  _ drunk and loopy, standing in the living room and laughing because there had nothing to be afraid of all long.

—

“I thought- I  _ swear-  _ as soon as Frazer opened his mouth I swear it was going to be another big confession- I promise- stop laughing, stop laughing at me!”

“He’s not queer!”

“He was about to come out to make you feel better, I saw that look in his eyes, sibling solidarity, but then he decided to just be accepting, oh, Marlene, you’ve got to talk to him about it, sit down and have a heart to heart…” Dorcas is laughing so hard that she’s stopped forming coherent words and just wraps her arms around herself, rolling back on the mattress and laughing. 

“I’ll ask, I swear I’ll go ask, tomorrow I’ll do it, but he’s still down there.” Dorcas’s eyes go wide and she looks towards the door as though considering going down and asking Frazer herself. They are now drunk on more than just alcohol; there’s a heady adrenaline associated with coming out and Marlene’s hands are still shaking a bit with the surreality of what she’s just done. 

They talk and laugh until sunrise, and nobody throws up. Marlene staggers to her desk in last night’s dress as dawn turns her bedroom this molten shade of gold, sparkling right through the blinds and lighting up Dorcas in that strip of light, asleep in Marlene’s bed with her hair a mess, only wearing that sharp cut silk top and her panties. An angel. 

Marlene, in that blissful strange place between hungover and still sort of buzzed, writes a letter to Remus. It reads:

_ Dear Remus, _

_ I got so drunk last night inside your house and then I went to my house, full of my family and Gideon and Fabian’s family and also Edgar’s family (so many families!), and I ran in and told everyone I was gay, and then they all toasted me. Raised a toast to me? I’m not sure what you would call it. Anyways, I’m not sure if it was some strange dream but I’m terrified to leave my room and I hope everyone’s hungover and we’ll all just sort of not talk about it. I don’t know. But I’m happy.  _

_ How have you been? Do you know when you’ll be getting back yet? I miss you a lot, and Sirius does too, although I’m sure he’s writing you plenty. It’s boring here without you, especially when it’s me and the rest of our group training together, and no you. I hate being the only girl, but you made it more fun. (Though I also suppose that it shouldn’t be fun. It’s work. But I’m also not supposed to be writing about this. Oops!) _

_ I realize that I’m sort of rambling now. I’ve sent you some chocolate and gloves as well because wherever you are, I’m sure it’s cold. New Years’ present? Or just a present. Why don’t we just give people presents even when there’s no need? I think it’s nice. I haven’t got much else to say that I can put in writing. I love you and I hope you’re doing okay. Let me know if you need anything.  _

_ Oh, and happy new year! It felt weird not celebrating at the Potters’ this year. Things are different, now, I suppose. Maybe next year. And you can be there too.  _

_ Love, _

_ Marlene _

—

Marlene’s birthday is two days after Valentine’s Day, which leaves something to be desired from her girlfriend, since two celebrations back to back can be overwhelming at times (Marlene distinctly remembers Remus suffering through the Marlene-centric era of mid February back in their third year), but Dorcas does a brilliant job at demonstrating pure affection.

Valentine’s Day is on a Wednesday. Marlene goes to Edgar’s house for a briefing meeting and Dorcas goes somewhere, but the details are lost and Marlene thinks briefly of her letter to Remus, filled with names of people and mentions of ‘work’, how reckless she had been to write it and assume that it wouldn’t be intercepted by somebody.

It wasn’t, but that’s not the point. ‘Constant vigilance’, as Moody puts it. Dorcas is surprisingly good at keeping Order details out of conversations, and she and Marlene are naively happy to leave it that way. There’s no point in uncovering secrets that Dumbledore wants kept. 

And besides, it’s Valentine’s Day!

Marlene and Dorcas meet that evening in a wizarding pub in Edinburgh called Drunken Arthur’s. Bit of a seedy place, and it’s always filled with sketchy sorts of people, even weirder than the types you find at the Hog’s Head. Marlene likes it because she feels like a different person there, meeting her pretty girlfriend for a night out on the town. People always watch them as they go, just like tonight.

“Sure you don’t want a drink first?” Dorcas asks as she takes Marlene’s arm. When it’s cold out, they always link arms so as to keep their hands stuffed into their pockets for warmth. She winks at Marlene briefly before glancing back down the street, her cheeks ruddy with the wind. “I could’ve sworn I saw some bloke from the Ministry’s most wanted list.”

“What, you’re not going to catch him?”

“I’m off duty, Marls!” Dorcas laughs when she says it, she’s most always laughing, and Marlene gets caught up in her the way she always does. They walk through the city and see everyone go by around them; behind the wheels of loud automobiles that Marlene’s always been wary of, or bicycling through the streets waving hands out or up as they turn, and there are those traveling but also those in love.

Valentine’s Day is wonderful, just a celebration of affection and attention, people making a show of how much they love each other. Dorcas takes Marlene to a nice restaurant and slides a packet of flower seeds across the table with the white cloth, neatly folded napkins, and jewel bright silverware. 

“Here,” She says, “Flower seeds. Roses. I know they’re a lot of work, but it seemed more fun if you could plant them and have them for a while instead of them dying. So you can grow your Valentine’s flowers for months to come, because we have the garden.” Marlene’s brother Frazer is a Herbologist, but he dabbles in horticulture as well, and their front garden is wild with plantlife, both untamed surprises and flowers planted there on purpose. 

“Thank you.” Dorcas smiles. Marlene gives her gift, too, an expensive perfume that Dorcas had marveled over in a shop while they were doing Christmas shopping. She’d sprayed it on her wrists, dabbed it behind her neck, and Marlene had smelled and tasted it long after Dorcas had showered it off. 

Yes, it had been expensive. But is it worth it to catch that scent on Dorcas for mornings to come, smelling it on her in passing, breathing it in when she’s close enough and tasting it, remembering a sweet spicy kick of Dorcas Meadowes in 1979? Of course it is. How couldn’t it be?

They drink wine and eat rich food and Marlene has to resist feeding Dorcas the piece of cake that they share. There are others around them all on their own dates as well, caught up in each other, but this is Muggle Edinburgh and Marlene lives in a constant, perpetual reminder that girls can’t do sappy things like that in public and it’s nobody’s fault but it still hurts.

Dorcas gives Marlene her orange anorak when they’ve finished; pouring rain outside and they still take a walk to watch the street lights blur, hold hands, talk nothing with each other. They have sex that night, slow and fast and hard and wet and soft and all kinds of it. Marlene has never felt more herself around Dorcas, more like a real human being. Secure, unashamed. Marlene has a big mouth around Dorcas, can never shut up; she gets reckless and raucous, turns into a different version of herself.

Someone she likes better.

On Marlene’s birthday, two days later, Dorcas reveals that she’s bought them tickets to a professional Quidditch match. Marlene’s team- the Montrose Magpies- against the Wimbourne Wasps. Marlene wears her big black and white Quidditch jersey and shouts at the top of her lungs while jumping up and down, swearing enough that even her own mother would be disappointed, and the Magpies end up losing. They had seats low to the ground, opposite of nosebleeds, so Marlene’s neck gets stiff from staring up at the sky and then Dorcas buys her a Magpies scarf.

For your neck, she says. Maybe it’ll soften the pain? That’s not how any of it works, but Marlene winds it around her neck either way. They use the bathrooms in the stadium and wash their hands side by side, in silence, waiting for the witch next to them to leave. It had been a home match for the Magpies, but she’s wearing yellow and black and looks like a fuzzy bumblebee. 

Once the bathroom is empty, Dorcas grabs Marlene by her new scarf and pulls her close to kiss.

—

_ Dear Marlene, _

_ Happy birthday! I hope you enjoy the gift, as it’s really the best I could make given the current circumstances, but I’ll smoke you out and take you to the woods to scream to make up for it when I get back. Speaking of, I’ll probably be back in late March. I know, missing my own birthday and James’s as well, but I promise I’m doing well here.  _

_ Things are different than expected. It sort of feels like a camp, of sorts. We live in magic tents or little cabins, and we all have duties to perform, something about keeping the community bonded with each other. Maybe a commune is a better word? I’ve heard horror stories of worse camps, where there’s lots of drugs and such going around, and people get tetchy about it. I feel safe here. They trust me a lot more now that I’ve stayed a few months and made it past the worst of the winter. _

_ Sirius told me that Sid Vicious has died, which was really sad. I’ve been missing going to gigs of course, and we never saw the Sex Pistols live. Had a small vigil for him last night as cheesy as it sounds, but I hope he’s gone on to a better place.  _

_ How was your birthday / Valentine’s? Sirius was all sad and lonely, he wrote me an entire bloody manuscript about how much he loves me. Turns out Mary and Sion went out on a date and he was desperately alone. Have you seen him recently? Let me know if there’s any inside business that he’s not telling me.  _

_ Hope everything’s well with you. See you in a few.  _

_ Much love, _

_ Remus _

—

And today, Marlene is going undercover. 

In December, Moody had glared around the Potters’ living room and shouted names on a whim, assigning them to groups that seemed to Marlene, at the time, quite random. But his brain is quicker than Marlene can give him credit for. He’s assigned them to Aurors based on interests and skill sets. 

Dorcas is in with the fighters. She explained it quite eloquently to Marlene. Sirius Black hails from one of the most rotten Pureblood families in the country, with a little brother fighting on the opposite site and a queer werewolf boyfriend to boot- a million things to prove. Benjy Fenwick with half his family killed by Death Eaters and a penchant for violence. Almost as much as Sirius. And then there’s Dorcas: fearless, beautiful Dorcas. Dorcas says that the Death Eaters hurt her family and now they have to answer to her. 

Sometimes Marlene forgets that Dorcas’s own mother was caught up in an attack many years ago, back before it was common. Often, Marlene is glad that she’s not in their group. Edgar Bones is Dorcas’s leader, although all of them call him Captain Bones, which he says makes him sound like a pirate.

Marlene’s own team is an odd mix of chaos and hilarity. Frank Longbottom is in charge, which would be a comfort if not for the fact that Caradoc is also one of their leaders. Remus and James train with her, though these days it’s just James. They learn a lot about disguises. Reconnaissance. Spying, tactical planning, and crowd control.

Essentially, Remus learns nothing since he’s away practicing what they’ve been taught, James learns how to stop breaking the Statute of Secrecy when dealing with Muggles, and Marlene is taught how to cast a mean glamour and brew Polyjuice like no one’s business.

Today, her and James are going undercover. They meet Frank at his own house just so he can help them cast glamours and go over the plan. It’s nothing much, just some simple infiltration. But when Marlene looks in the mirror and sees a stranger staring back at her in those black, hooded robes with a mask upon her face and a glamour in the shape of a Dark Mark glimmering on her wrist, she can’t help but feel awfully wrong.

“Looking good, Camille!” James tells her. He looks stranger than Marlene. Her face is rounder, her nose more smushed, her eyes brown and her hair a dirty blonde. There’s not much to be done about her height. James, though, has been turned frighteningly white on account of Alice popping by and casting the skin color changing glamour on him and determining him distinctly un-Potterish with pale skin, freckles, and reddish brown hair. He’s not even wearing glasses.

“Right back at you, Stephen.” James grins. Even his smile is unfamiliar. Maybe that’s how Marlene should have known things were going to go wrong, the way she walked behind James like a good girl. Quiet, obedient. Marlene McKinnon, disguised, acting like she hates herself. 

It’s worth it, when at the meeting, they discuss themselves. They say all sorts of things. Mulciber seems in charge and Marlene has to stop herself from glaring at him the entire time. Or the way she feels terrified when his eyes pass across her. She doesn’t stay near James, in fact, as he goes to socialize with godawful Severus Snape and Carnelian Selwyn, with a ruddy face and stupid eyes. Marlene sort of stands by herself and listens because she’s mentally cataloging what they’re saying.

Edgar’s family are in danger, first of all. The Prewetts are, too. And the McKinnons. 

“They live in Edinburgh,” Evangeline Snyde says, “Somewhere in the suburbs, but their house is heavily warded. All of them live at home. I think there’s four kids? Oliver, Katie,” She ticks them off on her fingers, “Frazer, and Marlene. I’d say all of them are threats. Katie especially.” Marlene’s palms are sweating. Hearing her family discussed so casually makes her feel intensely paranoid. 

“Heavily warded, hm?” Mulciber asks. “I wonder how we could get past them. Wonder if we know any McKinnons.” And then his eyes are looking straight at her. So is Evangeline Snyde, and Sirius’s little brother, and James slash Stephen, who has a frown line between his eyebrows. “ _ You _ wouldn’t know how to get the wards down, would you?” He asks and now there’s no question that it’s just her.

Marlene is Disapparating before she even realizes what’s happening but someone has grabbed her and they Apparate too, so the panic and the fear catch up. Marlene doesn’t know where she’s going and the Apparition is dark and crushing and it hurts, it really hurts.

She’s been splinched where the Death Eater grabbed her and now they are standing in the darkness together. Marlene can feel wet blood stinging on her upper arm where the hand touched her. 

“Incarcerous,” A voice says, and then, “Langlock,” and then, “Don’t try anything. Don’t try  _ anything. _ ” And because Marlene is Marlene, not Dorcas or Sirius or Benjy, not a fighter with a wild heart and a penchant for doing the opposite of what she’s told, she obeys. 

Maybe it’ll save her life. Or maybe it will end it. 


	12. Coping Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus gets desperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for some gore, unhealthy use of alcohol, and self harm.

_ i don’t want to talk on the balcony _

_ just want to drink ‘til i kill what’s gotten into me _

**regulus**

“Lumos.” The small closet glows with pale light. Marlene McKinnon’s blue eyes are wide open and panicked, staring right into his own. There’s recognition there. But she’s bound by the ropes of Regulus’s spell and can’t speak, thanks to another spell that Snape had taught him. The older boy is a genius when it comes to making up his own spells.

So, here they are. Marlene had been about to get away and Regulus had grabbed her, splinched her, and they'd twisted through space and time to end up in Regulus’s closet. In his bedroom. At Grimmauld. 

And now he’s not sure what to do.

“Okay,” Regulus tells her, “Okay. Christ. I know who you are… you’re Sirius’s friend. I’m not going to hurt you. Well.” He looks at the blood wetting the arm of Marlene’s robes. “Unless you want me to heal it?” Marlene shakes her head and flinches away from him when he moves to take her arm. “Okay. Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to splinch us… the thing is, they’re expecting me to kill you. After getting as much information out of you as I can... but I’m not going to do that. I just…” Marlene is watching him, her blue eyes thoughtful, now, instead of afraid.

“I need them to think that I have. Do you know what I mean?” Marlene nods, slowly. “Ever faked your own death?”

—

Regulus should have gone back to the meeting after ‘killing’ Marlene. He doesn’t even entertain the idea that he let her go. The story goes that he used the Killing Curse on her and burned the body. Disposed of the body. Vanished the body? The body is his main issue. Evidence. Once he’d taken the Langlock charm off of Marlene, he had asked if she could possibly play dead for him just so the rest of the Death Eaters would believe him and she had laughed.

“I can’t believe I’m helping you,” She told him as though she was doing some great favor. “Look, just-” And she’d torn out some of her own hair with this stupid Gryffindor recklessness and pushed a few stands into Regulus’s hand, barely wincing. “Polyjuice me, if you need a corpse.” Regulus stared at the blonde strands in his hand and then at Marlene, who was watching him with an air of almost impatience. “Just don’t… disrespect my body, okay? Keep Mulciber away from me.” 

Marlene laughed, then, as though there’s something funny about it and then she Disapparated as though she had been the one in charge the entire time. Regulus stood with a handful of hair, a potion to brew, and no idea what to do next.

Regulus paces in his bedroom for a while until his mother comes upstairs and tells him to stop before asking where he came from.

“Where I came from?” Regulus asks. “You?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, I thought you were at a meeting.”

“I was,” He tells her. “I left.” Walburga frowns at him as though deep in thought about something, her eyes focusing on him so intently that Regulus becomes uncomfortable. She’s trying to read his mind, but he keeps it locked down tight. 

“Regulus, I’m worried about you. This business with the Dark Lord… his views are pure, but his methods are becoming dangerous. You’re young. You’ve ruined your future by leaving Hogwarts, but there’s always ways to fix things- if you need to-”

“I don’t, mother.” Regulus could say that he’s in too deep, could say a million things to get her even more worried. “I don’t need to fix anything. I’m fine. Only tired. Don’t worry about me.” He could ask her to leave or shut the door in her face, but she gets the hint. Now deprived of his ability to pace for the floorboards creak and upset his mother, Regulus sits down on his bed, puts his head in his hands, and wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into. 

—

Regulus brews the Polyjuice in Sirius’s old bedroom since his brother won’t mind. After disowning him, Walburga instructed Kreacher to dispose of all Sirius’s belongings in whatever way he saw fit. Not one for unnecessary dramatics, the house elf simply vanished Sirius’s clothes, records, schoolbooks, and other momentos. The room looks like a wasted reminder of what used to be; poster smeared walls half splattered with black paint, the empty bed, old dresser, and nothing else.

As though no one had ever lived there.

It’s a good thing that Regulus brews the Polyjuice up in the attic, because the fumes rise and the heavy choking smell of it is rather unpleasant. It hangs on Regulus’s clothes and follows him wherever, like the guilt about letting Marlene go mixed with relief mixed with self hatred about the entire situation. Regulus has never been so stressed about anything before. He’s always been good at potions and tries to enhance the brewing process of this one so he can have a body to demonstrate to someone, anyone.

Evidence. And then a letter comes from Bellatrix while Regulus is making himself a highball with less ginger beer and much more whiskey. Bellatrix invites him over, which most often means that they’ll be drinking, so Regulus downs his drink and Floos over to her flat. 

“Regulus!” She shrieks when he ducks out of the fireplace, nauseous from the spinning trip over and wishing he hadn’t had that drink before he left. Regulus functions well when he’s drunk; never slurring or stumbling, oftentimes he becomes more serious than funny and can fall into a quiet stupor of overthinking and general regret. Bellatrix is wearing some lacy black dress and a strange hat that could let her fit right in at a funeral.

“I heard about the McKinnon girl, congratulations!” She takes his arm and pulls him farther into the living room. Rodolphus isn’t there, thank god, and Bellatrix is already mixing drinks.

“What about her? What did you hear?”

“What did you  _ think  _ I heard?” Why does conversing with her have to be so bloody difficult?

“I- dunno.” Regulus accepts the glass from her and sits down on the sofa, glad to not have to remain standing. “I took care of her.”

“That’s what everyone’s been saying. What did you do with her body?” Regulus takes a sip of the drink. More whiskey, but with lemon juice. He sits back on the sofa and drinks more.

“Just vanished it. I didn’t know what else to do. Where do things go, anyways, when you vanish them?” Bellatrix makes a strange face at him as she sits down opposite. “Nevermind. Who’s everyone? People have been talking?”

“Everybody at that meeting you went to. Mulciber got the word out, that you’d taken her, and they had eyes outside her house. But the wards are so strong. We can’t get to the rest of the McKinnons. They say you should’ve kept her- you know. Tortured her for information. Maybe you should have, Reg, but you’re young and it’s a free pass. Killing her was a good start. It proves something, especially… and especially in these times. I think there might be a spy.”

“Does the Dark Lord know?” Regulus asks. In some ways, Lord Voldemort remains the same as he was when Regulus was younger. Something so glorious and regal about him, the way he commands respect and his sheer power. This power, something that he has the goodness to share. And what a rush when Voldemort breaks his power into pieces and hands them out to those big and small- like Bellatrix Lestrange or maybe, a young man with weak magic, an addictive personality, and a family name affixed to him forever. Regulus could be a nobody but instead he is a Death Eater. Look, he gets power too. “Will he ever know?”

“Of course he’ll know, Regulus, he keeps tabs on everything. One step ahead of you, always. He knows everything.” Bellatrix tells him this like he’s stupid, and maybe he is. Hogwarts drop out. Barely made any O.W.Ls, and all he’s good for these days is lying and drinking. Worthless, rotten thing, he is. Just like his mother tells him. “He’s going to live forever, you know.” Bellatrix says it offhandedly but there is something that runs deep in her belief. An undercurrent. “He’ll always know.”

“Well, good.”

There’s a silence for a moment, an interlude filled with clinking ice cubes and relief. Jesus, Regulus feels so fucking stupid. No one would have asked for a body. Nobody cares about how he would have disposed of it. Since when have the Death Eaters needed evidence for a kill? What did they do with Phineas Francis other than leave him there? None of it matters. Regulus even feels somewhat embarrassed when he thinks about the hastily assembled Polyjuice brewing away in Sirius’s old bedroom.

“I heard that Greyback’s orchestrating some attacks tonight.”

“Is he?”

“Want to see the damage?” Regulus looks at his cousin with those dark dark eyes and the white toothed grin that’s always made him feel the wrong end of nervous, ill, peer pressured. She was what got him into this in the first place. The blame always will fall on him in the end, but he was a kid. He was thirteen years old and they were telling him to kill.

“Sure,” Regulus says around a mouthful of cool liquor that burns on the way down. He’ll never understand Bellatrix’s obsession with gore, as it isn’t one he shares, but if she’s inviting him then it may be best to just come along. 

They sit in her living room for a long while, just talking. Bellatrix asks him how it feels to be free from Hogwarts, about his friends and Theodora, about his mum and dad. She tells him that Narcissa’s trying for a baby, which is sort of alarming to Regulus, who feels sort of uncomfortable around kids and never knows what to say to them. 

“What about you?” He asks Bellatrix. “Do you and Rodolphus want a baby?” Bellatrix laughs as though it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

“Me, having a baby? There’s not a mothering bone in my body. Too short tempered. No, no way.” She shakes her head and looks at him almost fondly. “You’ll need to have kids, eventually. Your faggot brother won’t be of much help in continuing the Black bloodline.”

“Yeah…” Regulus stares into his empty glass. “Well, I’m still young.”

“Does your mother know that you’ve broken up with Theodora?”

“No, and I’m not planning on telling her. The last thing I need right now is an arranged marriage.” Bellatrix just raises her eyebrows. Regulus sighs. In the middle of war, and of course romance still has to exist.

The rest of the night is not quite romantic. Bellatrix and Regulus Apparate to a village by Norwich that the werewolves had passed through tonight, leaving nothing but the dead and dying in their wake. Bellatrix says that someone’s got to cast the Dark Mark but Regulus stands in the cold darkness and can’t even imagine the incantation, so she shouts  _ Morsmordre!  _ and the Dark Mark is conjured, green and huge and terrible in the sky. Bellatrix says let’s look around before the bloody Aurors come and so Regulus follows her, drunk enough that it could feel like a dream.

Inside a house with the door torn down, there is blood everywhere. Dark red, like garnet. Regulus has seen blood throughout his life in a million different shades of context but this is not a cut, scrape, wound. Regulus has raised the dead and desecrated the memories of those lost but this, this is making bile rise in his throat. 

Is this something to be proud of? Mutilated bodies on the ground, literally torn limb from limb, and they are unrecognizable. At least none of them will have to wake up a werewolf and suffer for the rest of forever. Regulus steps back outside, where the air is cold and wet and he breathes, has to. Sometimes he feels like the world gets away from him. Most times he’s grateful that he drinks a lot, despite being only eighteen and too young to rely on substances to keep him sane. Can’t imagine seeing a scene like this sober.

The Dark Mark hangs over the house and the entire village. It is huge in the sky, swallowing up the stars and moon like a terrible black (green) hole. The design of it matches the one on his wrist. 

There’s a lot more blood later, in the second floor bathroom of Grimmauld Place, while a wasted Regulus tries to cut the mark out of his wrist until he realizes it’s no good, no good no good no good and he sits there and cries like a child because there’s no way out of this.

_ He’s going to live forever, you know,  _ so that means Regulus is in it  _ forever.  _

—

“What do you think it means to live forever?”

“It means to live a long time.”

“But literally. Actually.  _ Magically.  _ Is there a way to do it? To become immortal?”

A pause.

“Well, yes. Of course there is. Haven’t you ever heard of Horcruxes, Sirius?”

—

Evangeline Snyde is throwing the party tonight, and Regulus keeps his eyes low as he steps inside her flat. He wants a drink.  _ To  _ drink. He wants to get absolutely plastered, not know up from down, but Theodora and Josephine are pulling him along to dance. He likes the look of Theodora’s lipstick in the way he’s always liked her, still does, despite last years’ breakup and how she should be at Hogwarts right now but has left for the weekend to attend older students’ parties.

Theodora doesn’t have a Dark Mark. Doesn’t have to pledge herself to the Dark Lord. It’s not as though Regulus has issues with authority, no. He’s always been good at doing what he’s told. But often, especially these days, Regulus feels tightly wound and almost afraid. Regretful. Guilty. 

And afraid again. Talking to his father about Horcruxes and the darkest magic you can imagine, talking to a dying man about immortality and sometimes Regulus thinks that he’s not destined for a long life. Him and Theodora will stay apart because this war may never end, and there will be no more babies in the Black bloodline and slowly but surely the family will die and die and die with no one left to remember them, no matter if Sirius is young and Regulus younger, at somebody’s party in a London flat with scabs itching on his wrist and a hot nervous pool of anxiety mixed with liquor in his stomach.

Nobody ever said he was an optimist. Oh, nothing of the kind.

The room turns like a kaleidoscope. Regulus sits on the sofa next to a stranger wearing a lush pink dress, and has a conversation with her. 

“What’s your name?”

“Regulus. Yours?”

“Emily. That’s a funny name.”

“So’s yours.”

“Who’re you here with?”

“Everyone.”

“Ha, but really.”

“Theodora Rowle. If you know her. And Evan Rosier.”

“Oh, you’re Evan’s friend! I know Evan. He’s told me about you.” 

“Has he?”

And so on, so forth. Emily goes after a while and Regulus watches her dirty blonde hair sway behind her as she walks away. The room is hot and people all move around each other, most of them dancing or swaying to music, drinking or high on weed or snuff. Regulus sinks into the couch and watches the party move around him. 

Then his wrist begins to burn. This is unfortunate, because Regulus has gone a few days without being summoned and that relative yet uneasy sense of peace is easily shattered by the fear of his Dark Mark stinging, and so Regulus has a panic attack. 

The Dark Mark burns at the most inconvenient times, although the party is not the worst. Transfiguration class had been rather unfortunate, or Theodora’s bed with the curtains charmed shut, or the shower, that one time. Regulus had imagined himself appearing in front of the Dark Lord wrapped in a towel with bubbles still in his hair and the humor had only worn off when he had been punished for being late.

_ I was in the shower. I was in class. I was having sex with my girlfriend. I’m at a party and I can’t do this anymore. _

Evan and Barty leave out the front door, Regulus out the back. Pushing past people in their colorful clothes, their faces flashing at him and watching him like they  _ know,  _ they know about the pain in his arm and how he is guilty and how he is a traitor, and Regulus needs to get out get  _ out  _ and then he’s pushing out the back door and fresh, gracious nighttime air... Regulus crouches down on the spindly fire escape and gasps for breath. Everything is blurry and spinning and the lights of his city are too bright. For the first time, Regulus wishes they would go out.

He wants to be alone, he wants help, he wants to throw himself off of this balcony and then he thinks how fucking convenient it might be to be able to  _ breathe. _

And the mark is still burning. 

Nails pry at the edge of a scab. Relief when the scab breaks and more pain as sticky hot blood oozes up in the cuts and dribbles down Regulus’s arm. His breath comes in harsh pants, but at least he is breathing.

“Reg?” It’s Theodora, wide eyed. He pulls his sleeve down quickly and sits down on the iron slats of the fire escape. “Your mates left, I thought you’d gone too.”

“They weren’t going home.”

“Oh _. _ ” Regulus pulls out his pack for something to do. Theo joins him on the fire escape. Regulus’s magic isn’t working, as per usual, and he doubts he could even Apparate if he needed to. Lights the fag with Lupin’s Muggle lighter and takes a deep pull.

“Are you okay?”

“Just needed a smoke.”

“Are you supposed to go, too?” Regulus shrugs. The mark is still burning. A fiery twist of pain beneath the sharpness of those reopened cuts. And yes, maybe he should, maybe he will. He will go. Out to the city, his city, London with the lights and the bustle and the people. Muggles. He’ll let that pain hurt him and maybe tonight, he’ll just ignore it. Even if it’s impossible. Even if cutting it out won’t work, and painkillers won’t do the trick, and neither will cigarettes or alcohol.

“I probably should.”

“Okay.” He stands, cigarette between his lips, and Theodora hugs him. It’s strange, the physical affection, and Regulus hugs her back for a moment while smoke fills his mouth. “Just be safe, because I miss you.”

“Of course, of course, I’ll see you, okay?” They’re back in the flat and it hurts so badly but that hug helped, somehow. Like how Sirius hugged him goodbye before they left Hogwarts. Small safety. Regulus jogs down the stairs and smokes one more cigarette outside in the cold London air. When he Disapparates, he doesn’t know where he’ll end up.


	13. Run Free & Carry On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Youth — (Homecomings, parties, and rooftop dancing)

_ you were dancing to your favorite song _

_ and all my friends were singing along _

_ we got down, we got high _

_ the moment felt so right _

_ so let’s run free and carry on, like we did when we were young _

**_march, 1979_ **

**sirius**

The moon is a thin crescent in the sky. Remus is coming home tonight.

Sirius has been missing him something awful. Dorcas had given him some truthful speech about codependence and how his heartbreak of Remus being away was bordering on unhealthy, but Sirius had told her to stuff it because she must feel the same way about Marlene. These days, everyone in relationships is tied together out of  _ some  _ form of dependence. And yes, maybe Sirius doesn’t do so well without Remus, but he shouldn’t  _ have  _ to. 

They shouldn’t have to be apart at all.

Sirius makes a complicated dinner for Remus’s return. He and James are planning a surprise party tomorrow to celebrate everything Remus had missed- New Years, Lily and Marlene’s birthdays, Remus’s own birthday,  _ James’s  _ birthday, literally everything and anything. Sirius is going to spoil the hell out of his boyfriend from now until forever.

Sirius cooks two steaks because they’re a special occasion food. He makes a cream sauce with mushrooms, and mashed potatoes with loads of butter and garlic and steams some asparagus and then there’s a flourless chocolate cake that Lily dropped off, just for Remus. Everyone’s been missing him. There’s a steady presence about Remus, and everything has gotten so much more complex without him. Especially with Marlene’s family in hiding, Sirius’s missions getting more dangerous, and the heavy weight of having to wake up alone.

You know how it is.

Remus is ten minutes late and never known for his punctuality. Sirius has left the front door unlocked and is puttering about the kitchen, making sure everything is perfect, when he hears a hoarse-

“Honey, I’m home!” And thank  _ god  _ Remus is in a fair mood (sometimes he can be all cold and shuts down, something about that depression that permeates), because Sirius would be dejected if he came home without an appetite or his sense of humor.

“Moony!” Sirius pounces on Remus with a hug before even taking a look at him, and squeezes him tightly while Remus laughs over his shoulder, hugging him back. It’s a good, long, strong hug. Remus kisses Sirius’s hair, just gently, and when he pulls back, he holds Sirius’s hand tightly. It’s rare for him to be so openly forward with affection. Sirius is usually the one who initiates most of the hugging and mushy touching, while Remus is more confident in sex.

When Remus pulls back, he’s sort of teary eyed.

“Remus,” Sirius says with intention in his voice, but Remus waves him away dismissively.

“I’m fine, just. You made dinner. It smells  _ so  _ good. I’ve missed you like hell!” And Remus is the one who pulls Sirius back into his chest, making a noise half like a sob and pulling his fingers through Sirius’s hair, petting it. 

“Merlin, I’ve missed you too. Bring me with you next time, yeah?” Remus laughs. “And happy birthdayy…” 

“Thank yoouu,” Remus half sings back, pulling away from Sirius again and wiping at the waterline of his eyes with both hands. 

“Did you manage to celebrate?”

“Sort of, yeah. The werewolves don’t party like the Gryffindors, though, I can say that.”

“And what about the Gryffindor werewolves?” Remus laughs. 

“ _ They  _ know how to party. That much I know.”

—

There are twenty four hours in between the party Sirius has planned and the moment Remus sets foot in the door. They eat, fuck, shower, and Remus unpacks while telling Sirius all sorts of classified information about his mission.

Dumbledore and Moody insist that they keep details from their missions secret, even from each other. Any involvement from other Order members will only lead to complications, so keeping details to themselves is apparently the best method of secrecy. But Remus and Sirius have never kept secrets from each other. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Their friendship was built on swapping secrets, trusting each other with those awful truths, and now is no different.

“They all live in cabins, basically. Made them themselves, and homemade bunk beds, and wood burning stoves… it is like living on a commune, honestly. We’ve got a garden, and chickens, and we hunt or grow all our own food…”

“Like hippies.”

“Well, sure, yeah.” Remus and Sirius are sitting in bed, bopping lanterns back and forth, and talking late into the night.

“Did you have friends?”

“‘Course I had friends, who do I look like? There’s this girl Holly, and Will, who I shared the room with. And Lila, who’s done my hair,” Remus gestures to his brown hair, which is much less shaggy than Sirius would have imagined from spending four months in the woods, apparently thanks to his friends’ hairdressing skills, “And we all stick together, but people mostly are in their own little groups. I recruited quite a few new people, that’s what Dumbledore had me doing in the fall.”

“What do you mean, recruiting?”

“I found them at these Ministry locations. The Ministry…” Remus trails off, his eyes darkening. “I dunno, Sirius. I support Minchum, most of his policies, but the way they treat werewolves… I can’t support it. They advertise cures for lycanthropy, but no one who goes to get the treatment ever comes back. I think the Ministry’s just killing lycanthropes.” Sirius doesn’t reply for a moment. Remus looks genuinely upset, and when he glances up at Sirius, he’s lost the humor. “I can’t support an administration that participates in genocide.”

“ _ That’s _ a strong word.” 

“It’s exactly what it is. Exactly. It’s cleansing.” Remus shudders. “So many people signing up for the treatment are ignorant, and they have no clue what’s happening. Makes me sick. It could have been me.” Sirius remains silent, again. He doesn’t know what his place is regarding speaking on these topics. “Anyways. This new person came to the pack before I left, and they’re... they’re different. Their name’s Xia. They might be working with Voldemort, but I can’t tell.” Sirius raises his eyebrows. “I’ll be going with them on the next full, to transform with their pack.”

“Will you be safe?”

Remus waves him off. “Psh, I’ll be fine. I’m not any danger to them. And this pack trusts me, now. I can always go back to them if things get weird.” 

“You’re not living with them again, are you?” Remus shakes his head, and Sirius feels a rush of relief. He understands that it’s necessary for Remus to spend extended time with the packs to build trust, but it’s worrisome for everybody.

“Not in the spring, no. I’ll transform with them, though.”

“Just be careful, you know. I don’t want you getting in over your head.”

“Best to leave that to you,” Remus quips, and then kisses him. He lingers for a moment, breath hot on Sirius’s face, his body warm and close. Sirius’s skin is nearly tingling with the touch, Remus’s hand cupping his face, but his boyfriend only kisses him again, soft and sweet, before pulling away. “‘M going to sleep,” He yawns.

“Alright, well. I’m so glad you’re home, you know.”

“Me too,” Remus mumbles as he snuggles up under the blankets and pulls them away from Sirius, who pulls them right back. “Oiii… at least let me have some for tonight, huh?” Sirius lets go a little bit and Remus laughs. “Goodnight, Pads, love you.”

“I love you too.”

—

Remus was right about the partying. He spends the next day relaxing, but he seems to be in a very good state. Sirius was worried that he would give up taking care of himself while living in the woods, but it seems that self care and nature can go hand in hand. Despite the apparent challenges of it (which Sirius understands, just in the opposite way), Remus has maintained a healthy weight for once in his life, has been taking his medication regularly, and is quite talkative and bright.

He’s Sirius’s favorite version of himself, this Remus that he slips into when things have been going well. Confident, loud, and sure of himself in this sexy way that’s absolutely irresistible. By the time everybody (and Sirius means  _ everybody _ ) shows up for the house party, Remus is almost itching with that infectious energy. 

Benjy shows up wearing a dress, already drunk. Caradoc brought an ounce of weed with him as a present for Remus, and the kitchen is covered in a startling amount of substances. Alcohol bottles everywhere, rolling papers and jars of weed along the counters, a baggie of coke, some unlabeled pills; it’s New Years all over again and the best part is, nobody’s being a downer.

Remus, Marlene, and Caradoc go out to sit on the back stoop and smoke for what feels like hours, so Sirius progressively gets drunker and drunker, dancing with James, Lily, and Benjy in his drag. So many people are there, coming in and out of the house. Mary and Sion are there (together, Sirius might add), and Emmeline, Kingsley, Betsy, Peter (who’s been curiously off the grid as of late), and James’s old Quidditch mates like Izzy and Hyatt. 

If there were any Order missions assigned tonight, the Death Eaters needn’t worry about any pushback. 

“Where in the bloody hell has Remus gone?” James asks after a while. “Out smoking? What a fiend!”

“Thought he had some health condition,” Benjy adds. “Some shit with his lungs.”

“Oh, he does.” Sirius confirms. “Dunno if he got the chance to smoke with- I mean. On his mission.” Both Benjy and James look at him with raised eyebrows. “Hey, you lot know it’s all secrets!” 

“Who cares, I want to find that tosser.” James peels back off of the wall and pushes through the crowd to head outside, Benjy and Sirius on his heels. James bangs open the back door and nearly flattens Marlene against the wall at the same time. Her, Caradoc, and Remus are wrapped in a shroud of smoke that should have legally blown away by now but still, somehow, remains. Maybe Caradoc has cast a spell; they’re hotboxing the space around them.

“Moony, you antisocial blighter, come on in! You’re missing your own ruddy party!” James grabs Remus and hauls him to his feet. James loops an arm around his shoulders and brings him back inside, muttering about wanting to give a speech. Sirius lingers a few moments longer, breathing in the weed smoke that lingers.

“What’s that spell, then?” He asks Caradoc, who is helping Marlene to her feet.

“Maximized bubble head charm,” Caradoc tells him with a toothy grin. Sirius is already feeling funny off of the secondhand smoke, and the high is mixing nicely with his drunkenness. “Benjy’s idea originally.” Sirius turns to look for Benjy, who had been right behind him, but he’s gone back inside. As it happens, a load of noise is coming from inside as well.

“Are the police back?” Caradoc asks, Marlene laughs, and Sirius opens the door again to go find out. But it’s not the police. It’s James, standing on the kitchen counter, bent over a bit so his head doesn’t hit the ceiling while he shouts drunkenly, trying to drag Remus up onto the counter with him. Remus settles for leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. His face is flushed and his eyes red. A little smirk cuts his rough face, and he locks eyes with Sirius as soon as he steps back inside the house.

“Everybody, everybody!” James is shouting. “Tonight is a very, very special night, because we have Remus  _ Lupin  _ back with us!” A chorus of cheers go up from the intoxicated partygoers. Benjy passes Sirius a mug that appears to contain a shot of vodka, and Sirius shrugs in gratitude before knocking it back. 

“For the past month... how many months has it been?”

“Four months,” Remus tells James in a much quieter voice.

“For the past FOUR  _ months _ , Remus has been doing  _ reconnaissance  _ work for the Order. Remus has been doing more work than any of us! Living in squalor, putting his life in danger, spending time away from- hic!- his loved ones! Missed his birthday,  _ my  _ birthday, missed, fuckin…. everything.  _ We _ missed  _ him _ , didn’t we?”

More cheering and whooping. James sure knows how to give a speech. 

“So welcome back Remus, and let’s all have a fucking drink in his honor, yes?”

“Yes!” Sirius cheers along with everybody else in the kitchen. Remus is still flushed, smiling in earnest thanks when Emmeline pushes a shot into his own hand, and James shouts something else as they all take swigs of something or other. James hops down from the counter and Remus has to physically steady him, laughing.

Then James starts singing, in a way that sets the tone for the rest of the night. “Fooorrrr he’s a jolly good fellow…” Caradoc joins in next, belting loudly, then Marlene, Benjy, Sirius, Dorcas, and everybody else- “For he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellooowww... which nobody can deny!” 

—

Remus Lupin has  _ always _ been undeniable. From the day Sirius met him, there had been something curious and cool about him; in the patched legs of his trousers, the scars across his face, the quietness of him but the sharp humor and the way he can command attention, draws it to himself. How he grew up to be handsome, with sharp collarbones and legs that go on for days. There’s more to him than that, than the tactile parts of him that Sirius has always found so enticing.

Tonight, though, Sirius is all eyes and Remus is wasted.

They’ve reached the point in the party where a good number of people have left, which in hindsight is a good thing based on the rather embarrassing turn that events take. They all start doing abridged karaoke, which means dancing around singing along to the stereo. Lily puts on Queen in hopes of seeing them all go crazy and her wish is granted when Remus, instead of James, hauls himself off of the sofa that he’s been crammed onto between Sirius and Mary and starts singing along like he was born to do it.

“Aaaaare you gonna let it all hang out? Fat bottomed girls, you make the rockin’ world go round!” Sion wolf whistles and Remus laughs, dragging Sirius onto his feet as he continues to sing along, all the lyrics right despite his inebriation. Remus points at himself as he sings, “I was just a skinny lad, never knew no good from bad, but I knew life before I left my nursery… left along with big fat Fanny, she was  _ such  _ a naughty nanny, hey big woman, you made a bad boy out of me!” 

He pulls Sirius close and shakes his shoulders back and forth while Lily cranks the music and the chorus comes in, Remus singing straight to Sirius. Only when he sings, “Fat bottomed girls, you make the rockin’ world go round!” and then smacks Sirius’s ass while everyone shrieks and whistles, does Sirius experience some sense of embarrassment and it’s only because he’s so hopelessly turned on and glad that his tight, dark jeans do a decent job of covering it up. 

Lily, apparently the DJ for the night, puts on the Stones next and then everyone sort of dances. She’s put on one of Sirius’s favorites, Star Star, and he does a self decidedly brilliant impression of Mick’s ridiculous accent.

He clutches onto Remus during the beginning and sings it right to him, a little more romantic and then a little less; “Baby,  _ baby,  _ I’ve been so sad since you’ve been gone, way back to New Yawk Citaaeh, where yah do belong, honey I missed your two tongue kisses, legs wrapped around me tight, if  _ you _ ever get back to Cardiff, boy, I’m gonna make you scream all night-!” Mary pulls him off of Remus and they’re all laughing, just jumping around the living room like kids, or at a gig, or back at Hogwarts, breathless and red faced and dancing.

Then Lily gets dizzy and Mary has to go home, so Sion leaves with her. Nobody asks how Sion travelled here or how he’s going to go home, it’s a load of goodbyes and then a quieter atmosphere. Caradoc, Benjy, Lily, James, and of course Remus and Sirius are the only ones left and Caradoc has put on some Talking Heads that he wants them to listen to. He always has new music to share, and they sit around quietly and just listen to the music for a while.

Well, sort of. James keeps talking and Caradoc looks like he wants to tell him to be quiet, but he never does. Sirius is admiring Benjy’s dress. No one has really commented on it because Benjy has always been into doing things differently. Alternatively. Sirius has been watching him a lot, though. He really likes the way it all looks. The dress is more of a slip: black satin with thin straps. Sirius is enticed by the way it doesn’t make sense, how Benjy is a boy with broad shoulders and narrow hips, and you can see his toned arms but not too much of his legs, how his hair is a wilted mohawk but he wears earrings, too.

And the  _ dress _ .

It’s quite late by the time Sirius drags Benjy upstairs and they’re both drunk, Sirius more so but long since having learned to hold his liquor, breaths hot and Sirius running his hands over the fabric before taking out his wand and duplicating the satin into another, his own.

“Oh, bo-ring,” Benjy says and casts a color changing charm on the new dress in their hands. He turns it a glowing shade of deep green, and waves his wand again, cutting a slit in the thigh. “We don’t want to match, that’s  _ gay.” _

“Go fucking on, huh?” Sirius asks, running his hands over the new dress. “How did you come up with this?”

“Linda talked me into it. It’s what punk is all about, yeah? Doing whatever the fuck you like?” Benjy shrugs. “Just an idea for the night, I don’t think Caradoc likes it so much and all the Muggles look at me funny anyways. I’ll leave you to change.” Benjy gives him a hundred watt smile and then shuts the bedroom door. Sirius can hear his footsteps headed back downstairs. 

The green, cut duplicate of Benjy’s dress is too small for Sirius before he even tries it on, but it fits alright after a couple of stretching spells. He ditches his clothes and shimmies into the soft, sleek material. It still doesn’t fit quite right, mostly because Sirius’s body is big in all the wrong ways and he sucks in his stomach as he looks at himself in the mirror. Benjy wears it better because he’s fit and can rock it. The material clings to Sirius’s body, but he loves the softness. Really does.

Sirius likes the way his tattoos look in a dress. And his legs. The slit makes them look longer. He musses his hair and makes a sultry face at the mirror. He’d done his eyeliner and mascara before the party started, but the dancing and sweating and drinking have made it a bit smeared, although Sirius doesn’t trust himself with an eyeliner pencil near his eyes whatsoever at this point in the night.

He thinks of fifth year, when he and Mary’s friends in Slytherin would dress each other up for the hell of it, how he’d tug on a uniform skirt or arrange one of their dresses on his slim body and how they’d laugh at him, do his makeup, pierce his ears and tell him how pretty he looked like that. This feels sort of the same. Instead of dressing in his usual clothes- patched, ripped, torn, safety pinned and criminal as hell, Sirius feels like this is just as punk. Like Benjy said. And it’s soft, too. 

Sirius loses track of how long he’s been standing there, wondering if he should buy himself stockings, Jesus, imagine a  _ garter _ \- and then he hears footsteps on the floor and then, good god, the door of the bedroom opens again.

**remus**

Sirius is wearing a dress.

It looks sort of like Benjy’s, but a different color and there’s a slit up the thigh so Remus can see Sirius’s briefs underneath. He takes a step away from Remus, wide eyed, but makes no move to cover himself up. He looks sexy, really sexy. The dress, well. It’s cut strange on him, sort of ill fitting, tight in all the wrong places, and with the spill of his dark hair, he really does look… girly. But with the makeup and hair, blue eyes and pale skin, Sirius looks so gorgeous that Remus’s heart almost twists in physical feeling with how much he loves him.

“Jesus Christ,” Remus says, because he’s not exactly in a coherent state, and then Sirius has the shame to blush. Remus shuts the door behind him before James, Lily, or Caradoc find them. “We were going to go up onto the roof.”

“The roof?”

“Yeah. We’d have to climb out the window.”

“This window?”

“Yeah.” 

“Oh.” Sirius brushes a hand down the fabric, a shiny satin, and Remus sighs.

“You look great, that’s really hot.” Sirius flushes again and looks away. “Honest…” Remus steps across the bedroom and feels the material of it, so soft and sleek. “I like it.”

“Thanks.”

“Might be a bit cold, though.”

“Yeah.” There’s a knock on the door, which means that Lily’s on the other side. None of the boys know how to knock for the life of them.

“Are we going up or what?” She shouts through it. Alcohol sort of blurs Lily’s filter. “Don’t tell me you’re shagging! I’ll just go on home if the party’s over!” Remus looks at Sirius as though for confirmation-  _ should we set to shagging and just send everybody home? _ Sirius’s mouth twitches as though he’d like to smile.

In a low voice that sends shivers down Remus’s spine, Sirius says, “Up to you. It’s your night.”

“Keep that dress,” Remus tells him just as quietly, ignoring the way his voice rasps how it does when he’s been smoking too much, “And we’ll revisit this, okay?” Sirius’s eyes shine. He nods.

—

They are dancing on the rooftop at midnight when the Patronus comes, and it scares the living daylights out of Lily. She’d been ballroom dancing with James, who was swinging her this way and that, when the sparkling silver heron had rushed right by her and she was shrieking and James caught her while Caradoc swore, the mood confusing and strange.

“That’s Frank’s Patronus, fuck, I’ve gotta go.” The movement stops and Remus sees his breath huff out in front of him while James asks if they need any backup. James has the uncanny ability to sober himself up in moments, while Remus still has satin clad Sirius on the brain and finds himself touching his boyfriend without even thinking about it, taking his hand and moving closer to him. 

Sirius is back in his dark jeans, hand sewn with patches of punk bands that they’d seen and bought from gigs, t-shirt, and leather jacket. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, oblivious and loud.

“Just a mission, I’ve gotta go.” Caradoc looks terribly regretful. “ _ Fuck.  _ I wasn’t planning this…”

“Man, nobody was!” Benjy says. 

“Are you good, are you sober enough?” James asks. Caradoc assures him that he’s fine, despite the multitude of joints swirling around in his brain.

“Sorry about this, Remus, I’m glad you’re back and I’ll see you around, yeah?” Caradoc is lowering himself back through the window in a moment with Benjy right behind him. The four of them are left standing on the cold rooftop feeling guilty for their lack of action. 

“Well.” James says. “What now?” They all look at each other, windswept and half cut. Remus is physically tired, his chest aching from the smoking and his legs a bit shaky with drink. He sinks down to the floor and Sirius sits next to him. James and Lily sit down too. They move close to each other, Sirius’s arm around Remus’s shoulders and Remus leaning into him. James and Lily sit much the same. 

There’s a breeze and the night is cold, even for early April, and they all sit shoulder to shoulder and look at the low stone rooftops that stretch out around them. James and Sirius had been eager to leap onto the nearest roof to theirs, Margaret’s, but Remus had caught them before trying. It would have been a disaster for the kind old woman to find her young gay neighbor and his best friend dancing about drunk on top of her rooftop late at night.

So they sit, shoulder to shoulder, all huddled together and watching the roofs as they taper off into nothing. Streets below. The sky is black, tinted faint orange with light pollution from the city. 

“I’m happy you’re home, Remus.” Lily’s voice is quiet but Remus looks over Sirius at her. The wind whips her red hair into her face, caught on the curve of her lips, but she turns and looks back at him. “We all did miss you.”

“Hence the party,” James mutters, but Lily shoves him and he quiets. 

“It’s nice to have everyone together. When it seems like everyone else is leaving.” Lily’s voice is strong, unshaking. She’s never been a crier, not like Marlene. 

Sirius speaks next. “No one’s leaving. Things are alright now, aren’t they? I think they can only get better.”

“Say it again,” James encourages. “You’re exactly right. The future’s bright. We’re getting, we’re getting  _ married.  _ We’re literally getting married!” Remus looks over at them again, all entangled in one another, James’s arms around Lily’s shoulders as he holds her close and the smile on her face as she ducks her head. “Spring’s coming, then summer, and then the rest of our bloody lives. Oh lord, I can’t wait. I can’t wait to see it all happen. Can’t wait for the future.”

“I can’t wait either,” Remus confesses, and for one of the first times in his life, he realizes that he means it. That it’s true. “Can’t even wait ‘til tomorrow.”


	14. Even Children Get Older

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maturity — (Dementors, drunkenness, and the inevitability of babysitting)

_ i’ve been afraid of changing ‘cause i’ve built my life around you _

_ but time makes you bolder, even children get older _

_ and i’m getting older too _

**sirius**

Moody never found out about the party, which is a good thing, because most of the young Order members had been there, in the midst of participating in a host of illegal activities, none of which the Auror would much approve of. Marlene, most of all, definitely should not have spent her night in an unwarded, completely defenseless house in Cardiff when she was supposed to be hiding, but her secret is safe with everyone.

Besides, they all move on quickly. There’s much more to focus on than who was where on the night of March 31st. Sirius, Benjy, and Dorcas are all set on patrolling the villages or homes near the homes of Ministry officials or Order members who may be targeted by Death Eaters. Often, there are a number of unsavory creatures both human and nonhuman alike in the areas, and it keeps Sirius on high alert even when he’s not on a mission.

Remus is apparently feeling somewhat similar. He startles awake in the dark, one night, half yelling and half crying and when Sirius wakes up too, Remus  _ does  _ start crying. It hasn’t happened for a while.

“Hey there Moony, it’s okay, it’s alright, I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Literally don’t be, it’s fine.” Remus sits up and wipes his face with both hands. There’s a wheezing quality to his breath and Sirius slides out of bed to go crack open a window. Their room feels stuffy and claustrophobic. It’s coming on five in the morning and he doubts they’ll return to sleep; dawn is turning their bedroom grey with light. 

Remus has his breathing somewhat under control, but his back is pressed to the headboard of their bed and his posture stiff. Characteristic of paranoia. 

“Sirius, I think we should put up some wards on the house.”

“Not at five in the morning.” Sirius flops back into bed and makes a successful attempt to pull Remus close to him. “But sure, why not?” Remus relaxes at that.

“Good. I just feel like… we’re so defenseless, here. And with your brother knowing…” Sirius ignores the spike of anger that drives into him when Remus mentions Regulus. He tries to remain patient. 

“Regulus won’t tell anybody, I swear. We’re family. He’s safe.”

“Sirius, sometimes we don’t have a choice on who we tell. You should know that better than anybody,  _ especially  _ living in your household.” Sirius wonders if Remus is  _ trying _ to set him off. Sirius avoids thinking about what happened to him at home and for the most part he gets away with it just fine, but sometimes he sees his little brother and something hurts deep down for him.

Nobody else knows how it feels to live in a house where not even your thoughts are your own. Sirius was reduced to an anxious wreck, completely unlike himself; no letters to friends since his mother would intercept and read them, constantly thinking of what was right to say and getting punished for his tone either way, being too afraid to leave his room to go sneak down to the kitchens or eat. Being too afraid to leave his room even to use the bathroom or clean his teeth. 

Being afraid.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now, is there?”

“I’m just worried and it’s valid that I’m worried, because any Death Eater could come barging in here at any moment-”

“Then I’ll ward the fucking house if it suits you, okay? Is that okay? Because we’ve already had this discussion and I thought you were over it but here we go again! Some little nightmare about getting hurt doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. Now I’ll go cast the charms. Jesus.” Sirius leaves bed again, huffing in annoyance, and Remus doesn’t say anything. Sirius pulls on some sweatpants and avoids Remus’s eyes as he leaves the bedroom.

Downstairs, he fills two water bottles with vodka. Sirius then pours himself about two shots worth into his favorite mug- a novelty one which says NANA’S CARAVAN and has a brightly colored picture of a caravan surrounded by ducks on it. They found it at some charity shop. Sirius pours more shots after his first ones, knocks them back, and then stands in the kitchen for a moment, breathless with anger and sadness over the recent argument. 

Sirius sighs. He leaves the mug in the sink, tucks the water bottles into his backpack, and sets about the house to start casting complex disillusionment charms on it. He always wondered how long they would last before locking down their home.

—

Edgar Bones cast strong glamours on all of them before they left on today’s mission. They don’t look like anybody at all; shifting features, confusing hair colors, a face you might have seen before but then no- there’s no recognition at all there. Stationed around Harold Minchum, Minister for Magic’s house, because he’s reported suspicious activity and three nineteen year olds on the job will obviously be suitable to take care of it.

Benjy, Sirius, and Dorcas are all more serious than usual. Edgar hasn’t even joined them on the mission because he trusts them, plus he has bigger problems to worry about at the moment. He’s one of the strongest Aurors that the Order has, and the three of them were lucky to train under him. 

They sometimes used to muck about on missions. Not much, you know. But if there was a little shop in town maybe they would buy some snacks to share, or smoke a few fags while standing around, or play a game of sorts. Benjy and Sirius used to wear their leather jackets or heavy boots when they were out on missions, when it was dark out and they felt daring, but now they wear everyday dull wizarding cloaks. And they don’t talk so much anymore. 

They’re out in the country, which always makes Sirius paranoid. The sky is too far open and the lack of people is always unsettling. It’s April, but the air has gone cold. Way cold. Sirius feels goosebumps on his skin and pulls his robes tighter around him, warding off the breeze. 

But there’s no breeze.

“Dementors,” Benjy says quietly, his wand drawn. Sirius can see them, now, big dark things sweeping up the front walk as though they’re just paying a visit. “Think happy thoughts, right?” Sirius feels his heart drop. No happy thoughts come to mind, none at all. There’s something stopping up his throat. He feels them before he sees them, but then they’re there, and Sirius is blinking back tears, and now…

Now he’s at Grimmauld, and he’s screaming at his mother and he’s thinking  _ I hate you I fucking hate you hate you hate you  _ and then he’s out of his mind with pain, crouched on the floor, laying down, seizing, pissing himself, lost to the world around him just gone and gone, and she’s shaving his hair, and she’s tearing his earrings out of his ears, and he’s starving to death, and he’s never felt so low in his whole life, so useless, unloved, unwanted by anyone _. _

“Expecto Patronum!” Dorcas’s Patronus is non corporeal but it’s better than nothing, because Benjy is standing stock still with his eyes wide and Dorcas gives it another go, “Expecto  _ Patronum _ !” Sirius jerks back into real life, his breath catching in his throat. He swipes tears from his eyes and thinks of sunlight, Remus, their house in Cardiff.

Sirius thinks of coming home to somewhere warm, where there’s music playing. He needs something specific... The dementors are bearing down upon them, dark and Benjy’s just taking steps back, lowering his wand. Sirius imagines Remus coming home from his mission last month, the  _ Honey, I’m home!,  _ the way Sirius leapt into Remus’s arms and how Remus caught him as they hugged, Remus kissing his hair and holding his hand… Dorcas takes Sirius’s hand and squeezes hard. 

They cast their Patronuses together, the warmth of their grips transferring into magic; Sirius’s big black dog and Dorcas’s horse, eating the dark magic like the relief break of sunlight on a cloudy day. The Patronus wears on Sirius and he feels impossibly tired when the black smoke of the Dementors fade out and all of a sudden the sky is blue again, as though it hadn’t been before.

“Should we go?” Sirius’s question is directed to Dorcas, because Benjy has sat down right on the ground with his head in his hands. It hurts, of course it does. Sirius has never had a flashback that realistic to his last night at home. His hands are shaking and his body aching like he’s been hit with the Cruciatus in real time.

“No,” Dorcas tells him in a shaking voice, “There’s more.”

—

“Dementors?” Edgar looks very surprised at the news once they arrive back in his home. “Jesus Christ, and you lot got rid of them?” Dorcas nods. “Okay, well! Great job everybody! Here, I’ll make coffee. Is everyone okay? Benjy, you okay? You look a bit peaky.” After three audible testaments of their mental stability, they are ushered into the kitchen and given hot creamy coffee to drink while Edgar debriefs them.

Sirius chugs his coffee and then makes for the bathroom. He locks himself in the small hall bathroom, pulls a water bottle full of vodka out of his backpack and takes a few long gulps from it. His throat hurts, and there’s a deep aching in his chest that makes him feel sick. He just wants to lie down somewhere warm. He feels buzzed and bizarre and scared. Sirius wants Remus. 

The memories of the dementors hang over him and he still feels chilled to the bone, despite the warm coffee that Edgar made him drink. Sirius shivers and takes a few more pulls of vodka.  _ Fuck,  _ he feels terrible. Shaky and afraid. Nothing makes Sirius scared like the threat of physical violence, especially torture, and the residual tremors keep shuddering through him as though the curse had been set on him hours ago instead of years. It’s been  _ years _ and it still hurts like new, after the dementors had been through with him.

Sirius loses track of how long he stands there, holding back tears as he drinks and drinks- to warm him up, to stop the shakes, to clear his head. To make him feel okay again.

Then there’s a knock on the door.

“Sirius?” It’s Edgar, and his voice is sort of panicked. Sirius chokes on the vodka and stuffs the bottle back into his bag, hurriedly turning on the tap while Edgar calls, “Are you nearly finished? I need your help.” Sirius turns off the tap and opens the door, wiping his damp hands on his dark robes.

“What’s up?”

“I’ve gotta go, and Benjy and Dorcas just left and I just- I just- I’m sorry about this, but I need you to watch Helen. If you don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Helen?”

“Yes, Helen.”

“Your daughter?”

Edgar waves his hands impatiently. 

“But I’m. But… but...”  _ But I’ve just had half a bottle of vodka, Edgar, can’t you smell it on my breath? I’m scared and half drunk and I’m so, so cold. _

“But  _ what _ ? I could call the sitter but you’re right here…”

“But I’m gay.” Edgar laughs out loud.

“If that’s all, Sirius, then I’m sure you’re up to it. Sophie will be home in a few hours. You’ll be fine.” Sirius is still stammering protests by the time Edgar steps through the fireplace and disappears. Jesus Christ. Sirius leaves his backpack by the door so as to avoid temptation, and creeps into the nursery where Helen is asleep in her crib.

Well, thank god for that. She’s sort of cute. Well, she’s a  _ baby _ . Defo weird looking at the same time. Her tiny face is scrunched a little bit, with tufts of soft light hair, and she’s lying on her back in a cute little onesie. Sirius watches her sleep, making sure she doesn’t roll onto her stomach. 

Helen remains asleep for a good while, enough for Sirius’s throat to start itching with thirst. He makes some tea in Edgar’s kitchen and returns to Helen’s room, where she’s begun to squirm about and whine a little bit.

“Hello, little lady, are you awake?” Sirius peers down into the crib. Helen’s eyes are open, a warm brown that matches her dad’s. Sirius beams at her, and her chubby face smiles back at him. “Ohh, look at how cute you are! You’re so sweet, Helen, yes you are.” Sirius puts down his mug and leans in to pick up Helen, who starts babbling as he arranges her in his arms. 

“Babababa,” Helen tells him.

“Oh, exactly. I feel the same way. Merlin, Helen, what are we to do? You’re supposed to cry when you’re hungry, yeah? You’ll let me know when you want something?”

“Aba, boo!”

Sirius laughs. “Boo,” He tells her right back. “Hmm…” Sirius walks back into the living room while Helen pulls at his hair and then starts chewing on it. “Ew, Helen, have some self respect.” He sets her down on the sofa for a moment and pulls his hair into a messy ponytail before sitting down next to her and then plopping her onto his lap, holding her under her armpits and making silly faces at her. She giggles and smiles when he widens his eyes or sticks his tongue out, and claps her hands when he boops her teeny little button nose.

Sirius spends a few hours hanging out with Helen, and she calms him down exponentially. He casts funny spells for her and watches her reaction; bursts of glitter, conjuring little birds, and blowing bubbles out of it while she bats and claps her chubby hands around them only to see them pop. He talks to her, rambles, for long stretches of time and she talks back in baby-speak as though to show that she’s listening. 

When she gets tetchy and her cute face screws up, Sirius appeases her with baby food. She eats it, then decides to make things more complicated by soiling her diaper, which Sirius has to change with an unpracticed hand. After the diaper changing has been completed, Sirius feels impossibly tired. He returns to the sofa and lies down on it with Helen on his chest. 

She looks at him. He looks back. Sirius wonders how anyone could have a baby and grow to hate them. He himself was once a silly little creature who babbled and waved his chubby little fists, hairless and essentially toothless and just  _ sweet,  _ and  _ innocent.  _ Sirius looks at Helen Bones and cannot imagine, in any life, knowing her as a baby and a toddler and a kid, teenager, and hurting her. Hurting any child.

She’s not  _ his  _ kid, but if he did have a kid, an impossibly sweet little baby who smiles and talks… Sirius wipes tears from his eyes. Helen pats at his face, copying his motions. 

“You’re a lucky, lucky little kid, Helen.”

“Ubby.”

“Yeah, lucky. Your dad… he’s a legend, he is. One of the best blokes I know. He’ll be so good to you. And your mummy, too, she’s very talented and very kind. She’s gonna save the world, you know? She’s a Healer? You’re going to… you’re going to have a great life.” Helen smiles at him and Sirius keeps crying, gently hugging her towards him. She’s just a little  _ baby,  _ she’s so small and innocent and thoughtless and absolutely fucking adorable, and something about the combination of terrible childhood memories, drunkenness, and taking care of his friend’s barely year-old baby leads Sirius to have something like a breakdown on Edgar’s sofa while Helen gently pats his face as he cries.

Sirius has never before felt a desire to have a baby. The first issue is that he can’t, because he’s gay, and the second issue is that he’s nineteen years old, and the third issue is that he’s gay. And gay men don’t raise kids. But Helen is just another little person with big ideas and no way to express them, with her dad’s eyes and her mum’s nose, and Sirius holds her and wishes that in some world, he could have his own child and raise them in the way he never got. Spoil them rotten. Love them like forever. 

But it’s impossible, such as most things are. Sirius aches for a drink and instead just lies there half crying until Helen falls asleep, too.

**remus**

It’s quiet when Remus comes home, which is strange.

Ordinarily there is at least background music from the radio or the familiar scratch of a record. Remus has even gotten used to the rhythmic buzz of Sirius’s homemade tattoo machine, but this evening is quiet and Remus’s heart starts kicking in his chest as he tiptoes upstairs, wand in his hand, preparing for the worst.

But when he peeks around the bedroom door, he just sees Sirius in bed. He’s tugged all the blankets over him like the narcissist he is, and he looks like a Sirius burrito all wrapped about in blankets.

“Sirius,” Remus says. “What’s up?” The mound of blankets shifts and Sirius flops over onto his other side, pulling the covers back up around his shoulders. He looks terrible; puffy cheeked and red eyed like he’s been sick or crying or both. He looks sad, which is relatively abnormal for energetic, optimistic Sirius Black.

“Dementors, is what’s up. Bloody fucking dementors. Ruined my whole day.”

“You saw them?”

“Oh yes.”

“What did you see? Broken records? Poor Ziggy all crashed again?” Sirius doesn’t smile, or laugh, or play along with the joke. He just stares at Remus. “The Rug, on fire?”

“Don’t even put that idea out there.”

“Hey, I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” Sirius stares at him absently. His eyes are a gunmetal grey and far, far away. Either drunk, high, or dissociating. Remus decides to cut to the chase and clear up what’s been bothering him all day long, since maybe that’s what’s weighing on Sirius too.

“I’m sorry about this morning.” The expression on Sirius’s face clears a little bit, but he doesn’t move. Remus knows how it feels; depressive episodes and dementor attacks share similar symptoms and it’s undeniably bad when you’re too sad to even sit up and maintain a conversation. Remus continues. “I know we already discussed the stuff with Regulus and I was being short with you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” Sirius’s lips move but his face remains rather the same, upset and far away. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

“Well. I forgive you.”

“You too.” Remus looks at his boyfriend burrito, who blinks dazedly up at him with nothing else to say. They don’t eat dinner, drink or even brush their teeth. Remus changes into sleep clothes, turns out the lights, and gets into bed with Sirius, whose gratitude seems to run through wordless currents as he touches Remus gently, almost hesitantly. As though he is afraid. They cuddle a bit as Remus drifts off, and when Sirius pulls away, Remus for once lets him keep the stolen covers.

—

Since he’s been home, Remus has been spending a lot of time with Lily. They worked very well together in Hogwarts; Prefects who gave a damn about schoolwork and were good with bouncing ideas off of each other. They have similar senses of humor and personalities. So when Lily needs someone adept to help her with wedding planning and Marlene is supposed to be in hiding, she snatches up Remus.

This should be a girls activity. Mary, Marlene, and Dorcas should all be planning the guest list and marveling over different types of flowers, not Remus bloody  _ Lupin.  _ And yet- Marlene is in hiding and Dorcas isn’t very good with wedding related tastes, so it’s Mary, Remus, and often Alice Longbottom who go out shopping with Lily and spend long spring days in her new house in Godric’s Hollow, helping to decorate and bake test-wedding cakes and write out the guest list.

Lily is also playing an indirect role in Sirius’s life. She seems to have grown rather tired of him and it’s a new dynamic that Remus does not understand quite yet. Sometimes, he feels like he missed quite a lot when he was away, and no one is caring to fill him in. Like how Sirius is quieter than before and makes trips to the recycling centre almost every week, because he’s drinking again and in what seems like apparent excess but he seems to be functioning at quite a high level so Remus just leaves it alone.

They’ve all got vices. Remus used to literally cut himself with knives and spells to make himself feel better and Sirius let him, so maybe it’s the same with drinking. What else is there to do?

And maybe Lily’s sick of him because of the drinking. According to Mary, Sirius and Lily were at odds because of something that happened on the day Lily’s dad died, but the story is rather unclear and never fully explained to Remus, who is rather happy to stay out of it. 

Except he ends up right in the middle of it (whatever  _ it _ may be), when Lily calls one morning. Sirius used to make breakfast but sometimes he’s too hungover and Remus just makes oats for himself. Like today. He switches off the radio and plucks up the phone quickly so the ringing doesn’t wake up Sirius.

“Hello?”

“Remus? I need to talk to Sirius. He’s really fucked up.” Remus groans. It’s too early for this.

“What did he do? Is he in trouble with the Order?”

“No, he’s about to be in trouble with James, and me, and everybody else who might have loved him. Do you know that he hasn’t visited Euphemia  _ or  _ Fleamont in the hospital?  _ Ever? _ Like a coward? Do you know how hurtful that is to them? They literally basically  _ adopted  _ him- fed him and clothed him and gave him a home and he’s so ungrateful that he doesn’t even-”

“Lily, don’t call him ungrateful. Don’t say that. I know you’re angry but he’s…”

“He should have visited them! He  _ should  _ visit them! I’m only calling it as I see it!”

“James knows?”

“Yes, James knows!”

“Maybe they’ve talked about it.”

“They haven’t, because James told me that Sirius told  _ him  _ that he’s gone and seen the parents, but he hasn’t! He’s a liar!” Remus covers his face with a hand. Although he would like to let Lily, or better yet James, speak to Sirius about this privately, he’s sort of glad that Lily hadn’t called Sirius ungrateful to his face.

“Lily, he’s been having a rough go of it recently.”

“Because of the dementors, or because of the drinking? Or is it the guilt?” Lily’s voice is sharp with anger, nearly seething. “I go see Fleamont and Euphemia nearly every damn  _ day.  _ James practically lives there. He’s so overworked that it’s fucking pitiful. He’s James. We’re getting fucking married in a few weeks, and things are terrible! And Sirius is doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants, like he’s been doing his entire life! When has he ever had to do something that he doesn’t want?”

Remus listens and doesn’t know how to reply. 

“You can’t name a single instance, can you?”

“Lily, what do you want me to say?” He snaps at her. Remus feels oddly defensive of his boyfriend. He loves Sirius with a ferocity that runs deep. He loves his stupid, silly, willfully sentimental boyfriend and Lily can’t shout down the line at him for mistakes that Sirius may have made. “He fucked up, what’s it to do with me? I’m not in charge of him!”

“You’re just going to let him behave like some petulant little kid?”

“I’m going to let him do whatever he wants, because he  _ can.  _ He’s a free person.”

“Then he can say goodbye to his relationship with the Potters. Which is ironic, seeing as they might not have long left and we all know it. We’re just too afraid to say it.” 

“You’re bitter, and angry, and I’m glad that Sirius wasn’t the one who picked up. Talk to  _ him _ if you’re so inclined. Don’t make this about me. And maybe think before you speak. Good fucking riddance.”


End file.
